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ONSLOW, 


OR THE 

PEOTEGE OF AN ENTHUSIAST. 

AN HISTORICAL TRADITIONARY TALE OF THE SOUTH. ^ 


BY A GENTLEMAN OF ALABAMA. 

* 


He who loves not his country, 
Can love nothing. 

The Two Foscari. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

PUBLISHED BY G. B. ZIEBER & CO. 


1844. 






Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1844, 

BY G. B. ZIEBER & CO., 

In the Office of the Clerk of the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 




United States Book and Job Printing Office, Ledger Building, Philadelphia. 


PREFACE. 


Whatever part the imagination may be presumed to have performed in the 
folloAving w’^ork, most of the materials are drawn from historical and traditionary 
facts 5 furnished the author in some instances by eye witnesses of the scenes, in 
others by the chronicles of the times. Should the author succeed in animating 
his readers with the same glowing feeling, which he has so often experienced 
while listening to some of the actors in the American War of Independence, (a 
drama so full of extraordinary actions and occurrences, that the fictions of 
romance are lost amidst its abundant and more thrilling truths,) he will be more 
than repaid by having successfully invoked a merited tribute to their memory. 

The descriptions of the several battles contained in these pages, are mere 
abbreviations — memoranda — ferry-boats to convey the busy actors over other- 
wise impassable streams which lay in their course. The brief, graphic and 
faithful accounts to be found in the ‘‘Memoirs of the War in the Southern 
Department, by Lieut. Col. Henry Lee,” have occasionally been copied ; and in 
some few instances the very language has been used, or changed to suit the 
design of the author, who takes this occasion to acknowledge himself greatly 
indebted to the writings of that active belligerent, at once the able and accom- 
plished scholar and commander. 

There has been sufficient resemblance between a part of chapter 20th of this 
work, and portions of the 5th, 6th and 7th chapters of the 1st volume of the 
Monastery, to attract the attention of a friend 5 a glance by the author at those 
chapters (never perused since the first hasty reading many years ago on the 
appearance of the work,) has only left a regret that the supposed resemblance 
is so immeasurably small. As great an one, without having intended it, may be 
found in a sentence or two of chapter 1 3th, and the language of Dr. Sitgreaves 
on one or two occasions in the “ Spy and the author now fears that pride, or 
the dread of becoming a copyist, has prevented him from reading, in some 
instances with profit, such works as were connected with the incidents similar 
to those he records. 

The design of writing something like the following work was conceived 
many years ago, before any historical novel founded on our Revolution ha4 made 
its appearance 5 but the hasty and crude sketch of a mere hoy was thrown aside 
entirely, to give way to more engrossing topics. And without profiting by his 


IV 


first thoughts, and in the field of the labors of more competent and enterprising 
writers on the same subject, the author now ventures to make his appearance, 
with the bare statement that the work was begun, and is finished, under constant 
attention to avocations liable to sudden and repeated interruptions, and would 
never have seen the light but for the favorable opinions and advice of a few 
friends for whose judgment and literary opinions a high respect is entertained. 


ONSLOW, 

A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 

Luc. Dost thou speak seriously, Servilius? 

Serv. Upon my soul ’tis true, sir. — Siiaks. 

It could not have been expected in the 
outset of the great contest for American 
Independence, that all who engaged in it 
would continue firm ; or that, in a struggle 
so protracted and so prominent in the an- 
nals of events, there should not be devel- 
opments and combinations unexpected to 
the keenest foresight of the most astute and 
comprehensive political observer. 

The conduct of the British Ministry, in 
either countenancing or overlooking the 
cruelty of their armies, resulted in widen- 
ing the breach and exasperating the colo- 
nies. Even the persecuted patriot strug- 
ling under unheard-of privations and cru- 
elties, gained fresh strength and found new 
soufces of encouragement from the contu- 
macious demands and haughty demeanor 
of his country’s invaders. In the darkest 
days of rapine and murder, it is related of 
Marion, that be confidently predicted the 
overthrow of the King’s authority and the 
establishment of American Independence. 
Such acts towards enlightened men, tore 
the veil from their eyes, and taught them 
that their only refuge from oppression was 
in their own determind efforts. A more 
generous course — conciliation and justice — 
might have resulted in healing the breach 
and averting that separation v.^hich cost the 
mother country such heavy losses in life 
and treasure, and left so deep a stain of dis- 
honor upon her motives and measures. 

Great struggles elicit corresponding vir- 
tues and vices; which are sometimes match- 
ed in the same individual. Then indeed 
may be seen the multifarious shades of 
which he is capable of being compounded. 
Individuals will stand out in bold relief, 
stamped with the strong impress of nature ; 
exhibiting great talents and performing ac- 
tions remarkable either for their nobleness, 
or their guilt. 

The motives of self preservation were 

2 


often in direct collision with those obliga- 
tions which liberty or loyalty imposed, and 
impelled many, as the one or the other pre- 
dominated, to take different views and es- 
pouse different sides in the great contest. 
The timid and the base are often allied in 
their motives to resistance, the one by the 
preservation of life, the other by the accu- 
mulation of wealth, or the disguise of some 
nefarious scheme ; whilst there are others 
not absolutely swayed by either, but from 
indecision of character, or considerations 
trivial in themselves, endeavor to occupy 
a neutral position, or vacillate from one 
side to the other as chance or caprice may 
prevail. Thus in the war of Independence 
many who in its inception were flaming 
patriots, from fear, exhaustion of excite- 
ment, or despairing of success, abandoned 
the cause as hopeless. Others suddenly 
became enlightened on the duties and obli- 
gations which they owed their sovereign. 
Sometimes a recent victory or defeat would 
determine their doubts, whilst the spoils of 
victory had no little share in directing the 
footsteps of others to the banner under 
which they assumed it their duty to do bat- 
tle. Sometimes a spirit of revenge, or a 
more familiar intercourse with blood and 
carnage swayed the motives and actions of 
the belligerents; and such, with many other 
causes, and incentives, entered into the 
mighty disruption, and mingled in giving a 
tone and shading to the various scenes and 
actors in the long and heroic struggle, in the 
delineation of which, the most graphic and 
fruitful imagination might utterly fail to 
portray a tithe of what was important or 
interesting. 

The close of the campaigns of 1779 was 
remarkable for the despondency of the 
Americans. They were doomed to a woful 
disappointment in the great expectations of 
aid, raised by the arrival of the French 
fleet. The army was badly clothed and 
constantly melting away. Add to these, 
the depreciation of the continental paper 
currency, with the darkening prospects be- 




6 


ONSLOW, 


fore them of a protracted struggle, and it 
must be admitted they had just grounds of 
doubt, whether, under all these discourag- 
ing circumstances, they were to become in- 
dependent citizens or subjugated vassals. 

It is true that the defeat of the Tories of 
Georgia and South Carolina at Kettle 
Creek, with the arrival of Count d’ Es- 
taing, revived for a time the spirit of the 
South, and the exiles from Georgia return- 
ed in high spirits to their homes, only to 
mark the desolation made by their invaders, 
and to fly again from the disasters of war. 
The defeat of the Count at Savannah, his 
departure from the coast, and the subse- 
quent surrender of Charleston, left the 
southern patriot without any reasonable 
hope of success, or any means of escaping 
death, except in exile, becoming a subject 
of tlie king, or a prisoner on parole. 

About this time proclamations and cir- 
culars were issued, calling on the inhabi- 
tants to return to their allegiance and du- 
ties, as subjects of the king, whilst an un- 
wonted degree of kindness and conciliation 
was temporarily adopted by Sir Henry 
Clinton. 

With some few exceptions (of whom a 
handful who adhered to Sumpter and Mari- 
on were the principal) the people abandon- 
ed all show of further resistance ; and those 
of Ninety-six, Beaufort and Camden sub- 
mitted, either as prisoners of war on parole, 
or as subjects of the royal government. In 
the mean while, emissaries were despatch- 
ed to persuade the people to return to their 
duty ; and all were threatened with death 
and confiscation who might have the teme- 
rity or folly not to fall in with the offers of 
mercy and pardon, — or who might attempt 
to obstruct the re-establishment of the just 
claims of the king to govern his rightful 
subjects. There was no regular continen- 
tal force south of Pennsylvania. A dea’d 
calm hung over the plundered south ; des- 
potism seemed firmly rooted to the soil ! — 
No wonder then, if the offers of pardon, 
paroles and protection, with an assurance 
that all past offences should be forgiven 
and that there should be a re-instatement of 
former privileges, followed by a delusive 
hope of a respite from the calamities of a 
civil war, should have led most of the in- 
habitants quietly to submit to their con- 
querors. 

CHAPTER II. 

“Have I not reason, think you, to look pale?” 

One morning, about day break, in the 
latter part of May, subsequent to the sur- 


render of Charleston, a couple of men rode 
up to the mansion of Col. Arthur Conway 
— it was too dark to discern objects at a 
distance. 

“ Is this the house 1” asked one of the 
visitors. 

“ Yes, sir, to be sure it is, unless more 
fine houses have been built up in these war 
times,” was the reply of the other. 

The first attempt at rousing the family 
was answered by the hideous barking and 
yelling of a mingled pack of hounds, curs, 
and terriers. Our two travelers waited 
for some time, vainly expecting that some 
one had heard their call, or, warned by the 
tumultuous uproar in the yard, would come 
out to suppress it, or ascertain its cause. 

“By jing i” continued one of them, “who 
would be surprised if old Conway has, at 
last, made up his mind which side to join 1 
I should ’nt be surprised if he has cleared 
out to North Carolina, and joined the rebels 
— never too late to do good ; and I have a 
great mind to keep up the fun by entering 
my pony Light- wood-knot. Don’t you think, 
Squire, he ’d hold his own, after what you 
have seen him do to-night, in any of the 
grass -fed cavalry scouts, owned by any of 
the rebel boys'! Nothing’s to be made now- 
a-days, unless a fellow can get the blind 
side of Clannagari and McQuirk ; and I ’m 
not so plaguey certain that they are any 
better than they should be.” 

“Be silent, sir! You are talking about 
matters of which you know but little and 
care less — you only make the confusion 
worse, by exciting the dogs to keep up 
their noise.” 

“More, Squire, than you think for ; and, 
by jing ! you only follow my example, in 
rousing old Conway’s kittle of curs and 
mongrels. But I ’m dumb.” 

After repeated calls by each, (for the lat- 
ter speaker soon forgot his promise) which 
were successively drowned in the louder 
and still fiercer notes of the motley kennel 
and guardians of the yard, some one cau- 
tiously opened the creaking door of one of 
the out-houses which stood a little dfstance 
from the main building, exclaiming vocife- 
rously ; “ Out I you rascals, and you little 
ratters, good for nothing but to raise a fuss 
and encourage the hounds — you rabbit- 
scullions ! out with you there !” 

The dogs at the well known rebuke re- 
luctantly skulked off; growling and bark- 
ing in different directions as they felt se- 
cure from punishment; but their master 
was not to be disobeyed. “ I’ll be boiftid 
I’ll stop your throats,” and instantly using 
a cow-whip on one of the culprits, the crack 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


x7 


of which resounded like the discharge of a 
musket, reverberating far and near, silenc- 
ed every sound except the awakened owl 
of the forest, whose distant notes were 
heard answering the receding uproar of the 
yard. 

“Is that you, friend Cato I” exclaimed 
the talkative visitor. 

“Yes sir, the very identical; but you 
have de advantage of me ; but your woice 
sounds familiar like.” 

“ Why, Cato, don’t you recollect your old 
friend, big fighting little Captain Timmy 
Tidder? I should have known your voice 
in a sixty-foot well, the darkest night that 
ever put out day light.” 

“ Well ! well ! who ’d of thought on see- 
ing your walliant face, dis sleepy time of 
night?” 

The companion of Captain Tidder com- 
manded silence a second time, cutting 
short the dialogue of the two friends, by 
asking the servant whether this was the 
residence of Col. Arthur Conway. 

“ Dis he home, sir, when he stay ’bout 
here.” 

“ Is your master now at home?” 

“ I will go and see, sir,” said Cato, chang- 
ing his voice from the negro dialect. 

No sooner had Cato left the gate than 
the dogs struck up, rather irregularly, an- 
other attack upon the two travelers. 

Cato returned, saying, “Light, gentlemen, 
don’t mind the dogs ; they never bite a gen- 
tleman ; but let a poor nigger and a raga- 
muffin-white man keep out of their way;” 
then snapping his fingers, he continued, 
“or they will swing him as quick as that. 
I s’pose you have on good looking clothes 
now. Captain Tidder?” asked Cato, gently 
feeling the arm of his friend, to assure him- 
self of the fact. 

“ To be sure I have, and I’ll be bound 
as fine as yours, although you belong to 
a rich old buck, and I am such a poor hard 
working fellow.” 

“ You’ve been werry lucky den, dese war 
times, since first I have the pleasure of your 
acquaintance. 

“ Oh yes ! Cato, a soldier can do better 
than a farmer ; a good faithful one like my- 
self, Cato, will always get a good horse, 
good clothes, and a plenty of grog and vic- 
tuals, provided he is industrious and keeps 
out of the poverty stricken districts, and 
keeps his neck out of narrow places.” 

By this time the companion of Mr. Tim- 
my Tidder, as he called himself, became 
impatient, and again cut short his discourse, 
by exclaiming sharply,” Will you be si- 
lent, sir, until I can ascertain whether 


Col. Conway is at home! Then address- 
ing Cato, “ you impudent fellow I is your 
master at home ?” 

Cato, after muttering out something 
about meaning no harm to his particular 
friend, replied, “Yes, sir ! but I must first 
find out your name. In these ticklish times 
master says we must keep a sharp eye on 
strange folks ; but as you are along with 
my friend, the captain, I know you must 
be a gentleman and a friend. 

“ Go,” said the same authoritative voice,” 
and tell your master that I have important 
business with him. 

The servant still seemed to hesitate, al- 
though, from the suddenness of the com- 
mand, and the tone of authority in which 
it was delivered, he started as if about to 
obey. “ Ask the gentlemen to alight, and 
show them into the parlor,” answered a 
voice from a window of the house. The 
quick ear of Col. Conway (for he it was 
who gave the command) had heard the dis- 
tant sound of the horses’ feet, long before 
they reached the gate; and hastily dress- 
ing himself, stood prepared to calculate the 
chances and advantages of a retreat to the 
woods. He had taken his position behind 
the half enclosed window, from whence he 
overheard the whole of the preceding con- 
versation. 

A candle having been lighted, the visit- 
ors were conducted by Cato into a spacious 
and well furnished parlor. After the lapse 
of a few minutes. Col. Conway made his 
appearance, and bowing to the two stran- 
gers, as he entered, one of whom rising, he 
requested him to retain his seat. A hasty 
and inquisitive glance soon informed him 
that his visitors were very different in their 
personal appearance as well as in their 
characters; one was a very short, small, 
well-set, boyish looking man, with red hair, 
small eyes swimming in tears, and very red 
round the edges of the lids. The shrivelled 
skin and plaits of wrinkles about the eyes 
and forehead indicated that he verged to- 
wards forty years of age. Heavy shining 
freckles filled the face, whilst an air of pert 
restlessness was seen in every motion of 
the body. This personage, according to his 
own introduction to his friend Cato, was 
big fighting little Timmy Tidder. 

The other visitor appeared to be about 
nineteen or twenty years of age, with 
strength enough barely to escape being 
called slender. His smooth and ruddy 
cheeks richly contrasted with the auburn 
hair, and keen dark brown eyes, which shot 
from high arching brows, that verged a lit- 
tle towards each other, and gave, in spite 


8 


ONSLOW, 


of his modest demeanor, a slight air of 
sternness to his countenance when in a 
state of repose. He appeared to be nearly 
six feet in height, and left the beholder in 
doubt whether beauty or strength, stern- 
ness or mildness, predominated. The stub- 
born fixedness of the under lip and the 
restless eye caused Col. Conway to avert 
his gaze, instinctively recoiling from his 
glance. “ My name,” said the personage 
just described, after waiting a minute, “is 
Julian Onslow; I presume I have the plea- 
sure of seeing Col. Conway V’ 

“ That is my name,” replied the Colonel, 
advancing and shaking hands with his new 
acquaintance. 

“ And this, master,” said Cato, “ is Mr. 
Captain Timmy Tidder — my old friend ever 
since before you married my young mis- 
tress.” 

“ That will do, Cato,” said the Colonel 
as he gave Cato a nod to retire or to hush 
his ill-timed familiarity. 

Cato immediately understood the signal, 
and as he was starting, his friend asked him 
if he might go with him ; “No objections 
if master can spare your company.” 

“Just as Capt. Tidder chooses.” 

“ Oh yes, gentlemen,” replied the Cap- 
tain, “ you must certainly excuse me, as I 
wish to see Aunt Prudence, and talk over 
old affairs with her.” 

Cato was commanded to order some one 
to take care of the horses, as he and his 
friend left the room to renew their former 
acquaintance. 

Julian, after apologizing to Col. Conway, 
for the unusual hour of his visit, handed 
him a bundle of papers, stating that their 
contents would perhaps be the best apology 
he could offer for his intrusive message. 

The Colonel drew close to the candle, 
and read eagerly a couple of letters. Then, 
as if not contented, he read each over again. 
Julian, in the mean while, had time to sur- 
vey the appearance of the owner of the 
mansion. He was stout-built, deep and 
heavy wrinkles furrowed a cheek and fore- 
head apparently healthy. The complexion 
was fair, rather than pale, and, but for the 
settled gloom which, when the features 
were relaxed, was evident, the appearance 
of Arthur Conway might be said to have 
been manly and prepossesing. His settle- 
ment or plantation was in the interior of 
the State, and bordered on the northern li- 
mits of the district of Ninety-Six. He 
would at first have espoused the cause of 
' the Whigs, but some of his neighbors had 
leaned towards the mother country. Sub- 
sequent events left him in constant doubt 


which party to favor or which cause to 
join. Always upon the verge of an open 
declaration of his sentiments, as the one or 
the other party got the asc(^dancy in the 
southern states ; or as the fate of war seem- 
ed inclined in his more immediate neigh- 
borhood ; well acquainted with the causes 
and the progress of the quarrel, he stood a 
neutral, though by no means indifferent 
spectator. But the future was a sealed 
book to the anxious vision of the Colonel. 
With sensibility and conscientiousness, he 
felt acutely his unenviable situation; but 
the chances of war, its cruelties and liard- 
ships, his large fortune, (at least large for 
his neighborhood) and his domestic endear- 
ments, conspired to heighten his embarrass- 
ment. 

At times, when he heard of unwonted 
cruelties on either side, he would console 
himself with his forecast, and the happy 
position which he had assumed at the cost 
of much circumspection, and no little pru- 
dence. But he lived near enough to the 
whirling tempest to see distinctly its boom- 
ing lineaments, as it threw above the hori- 
zon the gathered spoils from the forest, and 
heard and felt its roarings and jarrings as it 
pursued its path of destruction. But Col. 
Conway reasoned erroneously; it was more 
the accidental position of the neighborhood, 
and the effects of causes altogether beyond 
his control, that had hitherto preserved the 
calm at Forest Hill, than forecast or dissi- 
mulation. Nature seems to have cursed 
certain spots with storms and tempests ; oth- 
ers, with the havoc and misery incident on 
warfare ; and the shallow reasonings of 
man are as much bounded in the solution 
of the one as the other ; the hand of Provi- 
dence, or the often unseen though settled 
laws of nature, direct and control the 
whole. The smallest insect has its influ- 
ence ; the bite of a musquetoe has produc- 
ed death ; the neighing of a horse has led 
to the crowning of a king : — the building 
of a town, the position of a river, even the 
whim of a woman, or the nod of a man, 
has determined the fate of kingdoms. 

Although a military commission was held 
by Arthur Conway, it seems to have been 
given in time of peace, and religiously held 
from the contamination of active service. 
The constitutional timidity, or indecision 
which predominated in the character of the 
Colonel, were concealed under the exterior 
of great candor and apparent honesty of 
purpose ; which, to the superficial observer, 
passed as the leading traits of his charac- 
ter. 

But he had never been brought under the 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


9 


hand of the assayer, and the coin had pass- 
ed currently or undetected by either con- 
tending party. Such is a hasty sketch of 
the feelings and character of the owner of 
the mansion at Forest Hill, when he receiv- 
ed this unexpected visit. 

A peep in the humble but neat hut of 
Cato and his helpmate, in consideration of 
the friendly understanding between them 
and Captain Tidder, may not now be out 
of place : Cato and his good spouse, Pru- 
dence, could never exactly settle down 
upon their sir-names. Cato called himself 
Cato Walden, after the maiden or family 
name of his mistress, — and Prudence ad- 
hered to her maiden name, or rather to the 
name of her master. The solemn and 
pompous marriage which united their fates 
could not obliterate the name of Prudence 
Conway. Cato proposed to compromise by 
having the names Prudence Conway Wal- 
den, and Cato Conway Walden ; but no 
reasoning could satisfy Prudence. She 
contended that giving up her liberty was 
enough ; — whilst Cato ventured to hint at 
times that the ancestry of the Waldens 
were older. It had been a source of much 
seeming uneasiness and some little discord 
between the two. They had however in 
latter years, as they should have done be- 
fore, agreed to disagree. The two old ser- 
vants were, both, round sleek and plump — 
fed from the rich table of their owners, with 
all the other comforts which they required. 

Free from the constant cares of their 
owners, their time passed as quietly and 
calmly as their duties were light and 
healthful. Col. Conway had not, like some 
others, transferred the broken down racers 
to be the common hacks and drudges of the 
yard and neighborhood; except on extraordi- 
nary occasions they were supernumeraries ; 
and yet the two old people firmly believed 
that the whole domestic affairs would tum- 
ble into ruins, were they not to supervise 
and control them. Prudence (at the time 
of the visit of Capt. Tidder) had cast into 
the fire a rich pine knot, and was seated, 
smoking away her surprise from the late 
scenes in the yard, with her huge night 
cap on, and a rich, though rather weather- 
beaten brown cloak (the present of her 
mistress) thrown over her somewhat too 
ample person ; when Cato suddenly entered 
exclaiming, , 

“ Lord ! my dear ! guess who we have 
the honor to have as a wisitor 1” In popped 
the little man without waiting for an an- 
swer, as active as a boy. 

“ How are you, Aunt Prudence Conway ! 


Pm glad to see you look so well, upon 
honor and valor lam.” 

“God bless you. Master Tidder! you 
have extounded me very much ! How is 
your wife and family 1” continued Pru- 
dence, handing him her only chair, which 
he obstinately refused to accept. “How 
many children you gotl tell me every 
thing about your consarns.” 

“ Oh I as to my wife, she is as fat and 
saucy as ever ; and we have only eight or 
ten.” 

“Who they take after, Capt. Tidder, 
your small self, or their fine, portly moth- 
er 1” asked Cato. 

“ First one, and then t’other,” replied the 
little man, standing upright and as tall 
in his shoes as he could stretch himself. 

Cato, after some persuasion, got him 
seated ; and taking out a black bottle, he 
asked his wife and the Captain to join him 
in a drink, saying as he threw off a good 
stiff one himself, (the Captain having first 
set the example,) “ drink a little. Prudence, 
it will be well enough, for the morning 
dews are not healthy and you ain’t used to 
be getting up so early.” 

To this Prudence only replied by giving 
him a significant shake of the head, which 
he understood meant that he must be on 
his guard against his usual failing. “I 
know when to stop at a decent time,” said 
Cato ; “ but,” continued he, “ you must ex- 
cuse me. Captain, I must go into the house, 
to see what your friend may need.” 

“ No friend of mine, Cato ; I only came 
with him, for fear he might get his neck 
cracked by some of the lads or regulators 
in these parts.” 

“ Well ! he looks like a gentleman any 
how, which are very scarce now-a-days,” 
said Cato, as he left his wife and friend to 
recall the past and to enjoy the present. 

Cato reached the parlor time enough to 
hear .Tulian refuse to drink or to take a 
bed. 

“Is it day, yeti” asked Julian of Cato. 

“Yes, sir, I see Wenus rising and all the 
roosters are crowing, and some of the neigh- 
bors are calling their hogs.” 

“ The crowing is no criterion,” replied 
Col. Conway ; “ they are so misled by the 
lights and talking of the negroes in this 
neighborhood, that we cannot rely on 
them.” 

“ Oh yes, master, in the spring folks are 
too sleepy headed to be wasting time in 
teaching chicken-cocks to learn how to lie ; 
and don’t you know that about old Christ- 
mas eve they will crow any how, light or 


10 


ONSLOW, 


no light; when you find every cow and 
beast on their knees at midnight.” 

“ That is all fudge, Cato,” replied Col. 
Conway, “do’ntyou think so, Mr. Onslowl” 

“ Perhaps,” replied Julian, “ it may be 
owing to the fact that the weather is unu- 
sually cloudy and dark, and hence the say- 
ing of the ‘ dark days before Christmas at 
all events, the superstition, if one, has fur- 
nished occasion for a beautiful allusion by 
Shakspeare, in Hamlet. 

“ Some say, that ever ’gainst that season comes 
Wherein our Saviour’s birth is celebrated, 

This bird of dawning singeth all night long ; 

And then they say no spirit dares stir abroad ; 
The nights are wholesome ; then no planets strike, 
No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm. 

So hallowed and so gracious is the time.” 

Col. Conway was utterly unable to pe- 
netrate the character of his visitor ; he, 
however, assumed courage enough to ask 
him, “ Are you personally acquainted with 
Sir Henry Clinton and Admiral Arbuthnot, 
the royal commissioners'?” 

“ A slight acquaintance with the first, 
none with the other.” 

“ Ah ! sir ! how did you leave the good 
General, I hope he will bring matters to a 
happy issue ; but I have my doubts wheth- 
er his plans will take well with the discon- 
tented.” 

“ I judge it more than certain, if I may 
conjecture from the frozen looks and 
gloomy faces I saw in Charleston lately.” 

“ Are you an Aide-de-Camp to Sir Hen- 
ry?” 

“ I am not.” 

“ Are you a regular in the service of ei- 
ther contending party ?” 

“ No, sir.” 

The Colonel, thus disconcerted in his 
queries, and not obtaining an answer, with 
some little impatience commenced punch- 
ing the embers, and directed Cato to have 
some fuel brought in. “ Then, sir, I infer 
that you are an American officer on parole, 
and I believe that this call upon the peo- 
ple to return to their allegiance and take 
paroles as prisoners of war or become sub- 
jects of the king, will give general satis- 
faction if properly managed.” 

“ You labor under a mistake, sir ! I am 
not an officer, and beg leave to differ with 
you ; I think the next step with those in 
power will be to take away paroles and 
compel the militia men to enter into the 
royal service, and assist in maintaining his 
majesty’s government.” 

“ By Heavens ! I would fight first,” said 
Col. Conway, rising from his seat, “are 
you apprised that such a palpable fraud will 
be practiced on us ?” 


“No, sir,” replied Julian, “it is only 
my opinion ; the people are like the slum- 
bering embers there ; if left undisturbed, 
they will sink quietly into the calmness of 
repose ; but the first flaw of wind blows 
them to a flame.” 

“ I suppose, then,” said the Colonel, “that 
you are a citizen of the state and have be- 
come a subject of the king.” 

“ I am neither, sir, as yet.” 

“Are you, then,” asked the Colonel, 
somewhat cautiously, “one of the royal 
militia men of North Carolina ?” 

“ What, sir ! asked Julian, fiercely, “ do 
you take me for a cut-throat Tory ?” 

“For God’s sake,” said the Colonel, “do 
not be angry. I have received important 
despatches by your hands, and have in vain 
attempted to find out your calling or occu- 
pation ; you certainly are a Frenchman, one 
of the allied forces, disposed to settle a- 
mongst us, if I may judge from your com- 
plexion. Pray, sir, do you know my brave 
nephew, Major Notwood, or Col. Clanna- 
gan ?” 

“Sir!” replied Julian, “I am not a 
Frenchman. I have some acquaintance 
with Major Notwood, with Col. Clannagan 
a slight acquaintance only of a few hours ; 
and to cut short your thriftless curiosity, I 
will simply say, that I have been in the 
continental service, am a private soldier 
on parole, and now engaged in the truly 
unpleasant duty, against my wishes, of 
bringing you unwelcome news at unsea- 
sonable hours ; and, sir, if you will favor me 
with your answer, I will not prolong my 
visit or excite further your curiosity.” 

“ You are indeed a strange man in these 
disjointed times ; a continental soldier, and 
in the employment of the two most tho- 
rough and reckless partisans in the coun- 
try ; active and neutral ; how can you re- 
concile these contrarieties in the same cha- 
racter, especially if you still adhere to your 
parole ? You must be ignorant of the part 
you have performed. Here is the circular 
of the commissioners, the other a letter 
which I will read. 

“ Camden, May 25. 

“ CoL. Conway, Sir: — You will perceive 
by the circular the intention of his majes- 
ty’s commissioners for the settlement of 
our present unhappy difficulties ; we ad- 
vise you to lose no time in taking the oath 
of allegiance and enlisting at once, as one 
of the royal militia, thereby setting a pro- 
per example. By order of Lord Rawdon, 

“ Stephen Notwood, 
“Benj. Clannagan. 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


11 


“P. S. As we have incurred great losses 
and hazards, and may have many more to 
encounter in defence of our common cause ; 
you will please to send us about j£100. 

“ Your obedient servants, 

“ Stn. Notwood, 

“ Benj. Clannagan.” 

After Col. Conway had read this letter 
Julian coolly replied, “You no doubt are 
well calculated to answer any question in 
casuistry which your active imagination 
may raise ; there seems, however, some 
convulsive twitching, some little hesita- 
tion when the galvanic pile touches the 
money nerve.” 

“ Go,” said the Colonel, “ and tell your 
insolent employers that I have no answers 
to write !” 

“ Order the horses of myself and guide,” 
said J ulian with some show of irritation. 

“ Most cheerfully, sir,” replied the Colo- 
nel, “if your trusty friend be able to 
ride.” 

Julian inoving a curtain saw, by the now 
day-light, his guide evidently intoxicated, 
though still able to keep his feet. “ Huz- 
za ! for General George Washington, and 
his continental congress,” shouted the jolly 
fellow, as he espied Julian. 

“ For God’s sake ! exclaimed the Colonel, 
“ do cause your good friend to be more cau- 
tious ; you have no idea in what a captious 
neighborhood we live, and especially as 
matters now stand !” 

“ I am not responsible for his words, 
thoughts or actions ; and it is not for you, 
sir, to make up the relation in which he 
stands to me.” 

“ Oh ! I beg ten thousand pardons. How 
could he have obtained the spirits 'i did you 
bring it with you V' 

“ Decide that question as you please,” 
replied Julian with a bitter curl of the lip. 

“Butyou will stay to breakfast, Mr. Ons- 
low ; do not be offended, and let me have 
the poor guide taken care of, as he seems 
unable to ride.” 

“ And his horse too,” replied Julian, as 
he started ; out of sheer pity to the hardy 
little animal which had galloped the better 
part of the night, accoutred as he was (with 
an old sheep skin for a saddle with raw- 
hide stirrups, and a like bridle,) he was 
well calculated to call forth the pity of any 
one. 

Cato, in a condition of more serious ine- 
briety than his friend, solemnly declared 
that Capt. Tidder was sea-sick from riding 
at unusual hours, which always harassed 
the body more than day-light hours ; and 
that he would put him in his own bed or 


take him down towards the river to walk 
off his fever and air him a little. 

“ Get him sober, Cato,” said his master,” 
or he will have us all hung with his trea- 
sonable clamors. Suppose some of the 
king’s friends had heard him 1” 

“ Sure enough ! sure enough,” exclaim- 
ed Tidder ; “ then, hurra for King George 
and his cunning boys! Good-bye, Squire 
Onslow; you’ll miss big fighting little 
Timmy Tidder, the best man, to his inches, 
in the continental or king’s army. Yes, 
the best man between heaven and earth.” 

Thus (as Julian departed, and Cato 
walked his friend off towards the river,) 
was left Col. Conway to ponder over in an- 
guish these new sources of discontent and 
perplexity which had so recently been pre- 
sented to his ever anxious mind. 


CHAPTER III. 

Go to, you’re a child 

Infirm of feeling as of purpose, blown 

About by every breath, shook by a sigh, 

And melted by a tear. — T he two Foscari. 

The happiness of man is as evanescent 
as the beam which temporarily breaks 
through the lowering clouds of a Decem- 
ber day : It cheers but for a moment and 
leaves the scene as dark and dreary as be- 
fore. The feelings of hope had for a short 
time cheered the desponding breast of the 
tenant of Forest Hill ; but they were soon 
succeeded by the habitual gloom which 
had gradually grown upon the once happy 
and independent Conway. 

In proportion as reason and religion over- 
come the passions, and draw off the heart 
from the enjoyments of the present, and 
turn the mind to look beyond the narrow 
horizon of its visions, will there be an ex- 
emption from the malign influences of sur- 
rounding agents. But Col. Conway had 
resorted to expedients, and submitted to re- 
straints incompatible with his education 
and conscientiousness (giving to the latter 
word its largest acceptation ;) his short liv- 
ed happiness at the success of the king’s 
forces was brought to an end by the late 
unexpected demand upon his purse, and the 
no less unwelcome requisition to yield up 
his allegiance ; a demand made by two of 
the most unscrupulous partisans in the war ; 
men whose demands or wishes had no other 
restraints than an incompetent command 
of means necessary to enforce them ; and 
their present security as well as the posses- 
sion of ample resources were not likely to 


12 


ONSLOW, 


diminish their desires or restrain them in 
their prosecution, especially when addition- 
al swarms of inferior followers would glad- 
ly imitate and aid the power and examples 
of such leaders. 

The gloomy picture drawn in the mind 
of Conway was greatly at variance with 
the one which rose on his view in the ma- 
terial world. It is said that man is influ- 
enced by what surrounds him ; that he who 
walks by a sluggish and gloomy river will 
be sullen and slow in his movements ; that 
his mind and his body will almost reflect 
the image of the stream ; whilst he who 
chooses sprightly conversation, or seeks the 
gurgling rill and flowery mead, will indi- 
cate in the vivacity of his mind, and the 
buoyancy of his step, the scene by which 
he is surrounded. To a certain extent this 
may be true ; but there is a gloom of the 
mind when no ray of hope can pierce its 
thick and turbid waters ; a chill, and fro- 
zen state of the feelings — of the heart’s 
blood, — which the burning lava cannot thaw 
or warm. Tliere are times when the most 
joyous scenes produce the most exquisite 
misery, just as the finest toned instruments 
produce, when out of tune, the greatest dis- 
cord. Memory, the busy necromancer, 
calls up the happiness of buried hours, and 
bids it contrast with the mockery of the 
present monient. 

The all engrossing thoughts of Col. Con- 
way were too deeply imbued with the dark 
workings of a gloomy imagination, to take 
a tinge from the enchanting scenery which 
surrounded him. The sun had just risen, 
and the dark mists which had lain like a 
black wall along the bed of the river, and 
immovable to the view, suddenly rolled a- 
way in heavy masses, decking the brows 
of the high hills that rose like mountains 
far to the north of Forest Hill. The glanc- 
ing light from the river flashed like burnish- 
ed silver, as it dashed onwards, now leap- 
ing and throwing up its foam and spray, to 
sparkle again in the morning’s beam, and 
then gently gliding into greater width and 
smoothness, presenting to the eye, from the 
commanding eminence on which the man- 
sion was erected, a long, tortuous and glit- 
tering sheet of fire ! — Even the forest pre- 
sented a varied aspect ; for it had not yet 
grown into that sameness which maturity 
presents to the eye. The air was clear 
and dense, every sound reverberated on the 
ear. The deep mouthings of the stanch 
hounds in full cry after the fox in its wind- 
ing and doublings ; the floating and mellow 
notes of the huntsman’s horn ; the chirp- 
ing and cooings of the tenants of the grove ; 


the jocund and joyous song of the plough- 
man, or the giant voice in which he com- 
manded his wayward beast, were all lost or 
unheard by the seeming observer of the 
scene. Tlie little dominion of man, with 
its busy alembics, the heart and the brain, 
furnished phantoms and obstacles which 
overshadowed and obscured the outspread 
beauties of nature. 

Col. Conway continued to look in the di- 
rection Julian had taken, until he was out 
of sight. Even then he stood deeply pon- 
dering over the events of the morning. — 
The sound of a gun or two temporarily ar- 
rested his practiced ear ; but he quickly 
connected it wuth the every-day transactions 
of the gunsmen of the neighborhood. At 
last, however, he was roused from his bit- 
ter reflections by a sudden call into the 
house. 

“ How,” demanded his wife, “ is this? — 
Are we never to have a respite from strife 
and civil commotions ? is there nevpr to be 
an end to the impertinent intrusions of the 
rabble ? let me tell you. Col. Conway, that 
it is high time that our relative position to 
each party was taken. Look there at the 
bitter fruits of your Janus faced policy ; be- 
hold the effects of indecision ; that letter 
is but the beginning ; the end will be utter 
ruin to your family. Were I a man of 
your lofty pretensions, bearing a military 
title, held as a gentleman, and one who lays 
claim to a noble descent, I should have 
kicked the ruffians headlong out of the par- 
*lor, and called up the negroes and had 
them well flogged. We are buried alive 
in the backwoods amongst ragamuffin 
Whigs and your low bred deceitful Tory 
friends. Sir ! you have suffered yourself 
to be imposed on by your pretended friends, 
Notwood and Clannagan. You may look 
out for a successful fleecing by their high- 
land wreckers. And let me tell you, once 
for all, that your friend, or hostage, or what- 
ever you may choose to call him, shall not 
remain here, to annoy poor old Prudence ; 
you may order him forthwith on any fur- 
lough, or private commission that may suit 
your arrangements ; or I shall see that he 
is put somewhere else besides tumbling 
and wallowing on the poor old creature’s 
bed and floor.” 

Either from a full conviction of the truth 
of what his lady said, or fearful of continu- 
ing an unpleasant scene before his daugh- 
ter and her governess (both of whom were 
present,) the rebuked husband prudently, as 
he supposed, refrained from making a re- 
ply. He turned to his daughter, and in the 
most affectionate tone asked her if she was 


A TALE OP THE SOUTH. 


13 


\ 


unwell. But Mrs. Helen Conway was not 
in a mood to be so easily diverted from her 
purpose, when once deliberately made up; 
and she was determined not to allow her 
husband to escape the meditated lecture 
which she believed that he so much de- 
served. 

“ Sir, you shall not turn the question in 
a different direction, nor hope to escape 
from what directly interests the whole fa- 
mily, by taking shelter under the sacred 
garb of pretended solicitude for the health 
of Cathena. It was I who sent for you ; 
the matter is not as bad as I imagined, but 
no thanks to your prudence or affection. I 
find that Miss Peabody was mistaken in her 
account of the cause of the midnight visit 
from your two worthies, and Cathena was 
unnecessarily alarmed.” 

“ Yes,” squeaked out the prim puritan, 
“ I was mistaken on the point of the mis- 
sion of the two ruffians ; I had not seen the 
names of the respectable gentlemen which 
are appended to the letter. I do fnost ear- 
nestly ask your forgiveness, Mrs. Conway, 
if I have caused you a moment’s uneasi- 
ness. I saw that an oath was exacted, and 
money demanded, and I heard a great shout- 
ing about congress and war matters. I 
thought it was a prelude to an indiscrimi- 
nate summons to Forest Hill to surrender; 
and I expressed my fear to Cathena, that 
the whole premises were to be sacked and 
we made captives and prisoners of war; 
but I yield to your better informed judg- 
ment.” 

“ The two ruffians, did you say. Miss Je- 
mima'?” asked Cathena, having from the 
firm tone of safety and defiance used by her 
mother, nearly recovered from the unneces- 
sary fright which had induced her mother 
to summon Col. Conway to her assistance. 
“ I am sure if the Mr. Onslow who was 
here, is the same I know, he does not mer- 
it such an appellation. 

“ Tell me, Cathena, where you became 
acquainted with this nocturnal traveler, or 
this Mr. Onslow as you call him "?” demand- 
ed Mrs. Conway with some surprise and 
severity in her manner. 

Cathena felt the reproof, and exclaimed 
with the most affectionate earnestness, “My 
dear mother, I hope I was not wrong in al- 
lowing an introduction to the gentleman ; 
I became acquainted with him at the ball 
in Charleston ; he is a friend of Sir Henry 
Clinton and of Major Notwood.” 

At the mention of the ball. Miss Jemima 
Peabody threw up her pious eyes in utter 
despair, exclaiming, “ What, not wrong to 
go to a ball ! — introduced to a stranger ! — 


by a stranger no doubt — and then in a ball 
room ; — is this the way you have been edu- 
cated, or is this the way you have followed 
my admonitions'? Alas ! I have sown on a 
flinty soil ; you are ruined forever unless 
you humble yourself and heartily repent ; 
but I fear it is now too late.” 

“If,” said her mother, “ you are sure that 
he was the friend of Sir Henry, I have been 
too hasty in my judgment against your 
opinions in favor of the young man. But,” 
continued Mrs. Conway, turning her full 
black eyes on the countenance of her hus- 
band, who stood looking with anxiety on the 
features of his daughter, as if attempting 
to read in them more than he gathered from 
her words, “pray, Col. Conway, is it thus you 
have suffered a guest to depart, whilst break- 
fast was preparing"? No wonder that you 
are forever on the verge of rashness and in- 
decision ; sometimes shaken by a shadow, 
or ready to plunge headlong into measures 
which w'ould bring immediate destruction 
on the whole of us; always too mild or too 
brave, too hot or too cold, a Whig or a loy- 
alist. I tell you, once for all, that you will 
bring ruin and disgrace on yourself and fa- 
mily.” 

“ My'dear Helen,” said the Colonel with 
an affected smile, “ you have risen in a bad 
humor this morning; I fear some evil 
spirit ministered to your imagination during 
sleep. You have lost that habitual control 
which you know so well how to exercise 
over the impetuous portion of your Wal- 
den blood ; you know that I am incapable 
of treating any gentleman with disrespect, 
and especially one who may be a friend of 
Cathena, or of the commander in chief of 
the royal army. I did request the conti- 
nental adventurer, this wrecker as you call 
him, this jackall beating up the prey for 
the hungry lions of our own acquaintances, 
to remain to breakfast ; he refused in a tone 
not altogether to my liking, and withal I 
disliked his concealment and insolent bear- 
ing ; because he happens to be a soldier, or 
that nature has endowed him with rough 
and steady nerves, he supposes that he can 
treat me as if he were in the camp, amidst 
his illiterate and boorish companions; or 
had a right to exercise whatever imperti- 
nence may at the time happen to be most 
congenial to his feelings.” 

This unpleasant and unusual altercation 
between the two parents had a very differ- 
ent effect upon their auditors. Cathena 
was humbled ; she felt keenly for the in- 
jured feelings of her father; she saw the 
deep wounds inflicted on them. With a 
bright tear glistening in her eye, she said, 


14 


ONSLOW, 


with the most bewitching earnestness, “My 
dear mother, don’t be angry with my fa- 
ther ; he is always so kind and affectionate 
to liis friends ; and I can never forgive Mr. 
Onslow if he has been uncourteous towards 
him.” The warm hearted child caught her 
father around the neck, and imprinted a 
kiss on his cheek. It was like oil on the 
troubled waters to the bewildered and har- 
rowed feelings of the father. 

“ Oh ! you are the best of daughters,” he 
exclaimed, as he pressed her affectionately 
to his bosom. 

Miss Jemima Peabody, on the other hand, 
had been delighted with the angry scene. 
It was precisely such an one as furnished 
an opportunity for the full display of her 
peculiar talents. It would never do to let it 
pass off, without mortifying the feelings^of 
Cathena, and strengthening the growing 
authority of Mrs. Conway over her hus- 
band ; for Miss Peabody was a stanch ad- 
vocate for the supremacy of female authori- 
ty in all things. 

“ I thought I heard,” said the governess, 
“ as I was adjusting the jessamine vine and 
my other flowers, the sound of harsh words; 
but to have the rudeness not to stay to form 
an acquaintance with Mrs. Conway, and 
not to inquire after the health of his ball 
acquaintance, after having quadrilled and 
danced with her, and to dance too after 
such hard battles, and so near the sacred 
churches, and so near the silent houses of 
the dead, he is a ruffian and a confirmed 
Deist. I dare say, Mrs. Conway, he is a 
murderer and an atheist ; perhaps, what is 
still worse, he is a Catholic !” 

Mrs. Conway was too deeply affected by 
the affectionatq remonstrance of her daugh- 
ter, not to feel some degree of disgust at 
the cool indifference with which the scene 
was regarded by the governess. And rising 
from the sofa, on which she was seated, 
she nodded to her to follow, leaving Cathe- 
na and her father to enjoy the delicious 
consciousness of unalloyed affection ; a fa- 
ther’s affection ! a daughter’s love and devo- 
tion ! the mutual interchange of the divine 
portion of man, refined from all the grosser 
portions of his nature — the generous gifts of 
the heart upon the altar of truth, where 
sincerity, disinterestedness and innocence 
may worship, and bring their offerings un- 
influenced by fraud or distrust. No fears, 
no dark suspicions intermingle in the in- 
terchange of hearts. For the daughter 
the father will risk his health, life — 
every thing ; showing, at least, amidst all 
the reputed selfishness of man, one in- 
stance of pure and lasting love, abstracted ! 


from all hopes of wordly reward ; yielding, 
as it were, an instinctive and cheerful 
obedience to the impulses of some inward 
divinity, whilst the daughter pours out the 
gushing flood of affection, and holds a faith 
as strong and as sacred towards the father 
as the dying martyr exhibits at the burning 
stake. Brief and transient are such holy 
moments ; they come and pass away like 
the short summers of the arctic region, suc- 
ceeded by storms and blasts that so long 
continue as almost to obliterate the remem- 
brance of their date. 

The reader can imagine that there was 
a dignified reluctance in the manner of the 
stiff, straight figure of Miss Jemima Pea- 
body, governess to the only daughter of 
Mrs. Helen Conway, as she left the room 
— a dubious air of willingness and disap- 
pointmefnt. Although the reader may care 
but little about the size of the foot, the 
height of the person, the color of the eyes 
or the hair, yet we are prone to attach cer- 
tain attributes of excellence or inferiority 
to certain features. Who, for instance, 
would like to be commanded by an officer 
with the impress of meanness stamped on 
his countenance! Or who would like to 
associate with those whom nature has 
marked with indelible viciousness, and gro- 
velling propensities! 

There may be some diversity of opinion 
as regards the propriety of introducing the 
characters to be described by a long and 
labored description, or a formal delinea- 
tion of features and disposition ; some con- 
tend that their actions and sentiments 
should be so interwoven in the narrative, 
as to develop the traits of the character to 
the reader, in the perusal of it ; or, as some 
have contended, the title of a book should 
be the result of its contents, and appear at 
the end. But as the conventional rules of 
society require an introduction, when prac- 
ticable, as a ready method of forming an 
acquaintance and interchange of civilities, 
so, in this instance, in order to avoid any 
semblance of neglect toward Miss Peabody, 
she must have a formal introduction to the 
reader; and should any ingenious artist, 
hereafter, in search of fame and profit, pub- 
lish a gallery of portraits from the adven- 
tures of our hero (for we so announce Ju- 
lian Onslow), it is earnestly requested Jhat 
the portrait of the worthy governess 'may 
have a conspicuous place in the collection. 

Miss Jemima Peabody was about five 
feet eleven inches in height, without the 
aid of high-heeled shoes, a fashion which 
she most devoutly eschewed. She wore, 
fitted close up to her sharp chin, a stiffly 


A TALE OP THE SOUTH. 


15 


starched tippet, which showed a long and 
very small neck, as it were in stays. Her 
dress was a plain dove-colored silk ; long 
in the waist, and fitting very tightly to the 
body, and around the long bony arms down 
to the wrist, the sleeves ending in a wide 
spread funnel-shaped frill. The superfluity 
of silk was left for the trail, which swept 
several feet behind the fair lady, as she 
moved majestically out of the room. Her 
hair was of a palish black, thin and oily, 
and was drawn with scrupulous exactness 
tightly to the back of her head, and tied 
closely around its roots, giving a uniform 
sharpness to the whole face. Her eyes 
were small and of a whitish gray; eye- 
brows were white and thin ; lips very thin, 
and met point-blank together, giving an air 
of peevish severity to her mouth. She 
wore no curls nor head gear, nor sparkling 
ear-rings to take off the asperity of her 
high, thin, Roman nose, which seemed to 
disdain the company to which it was at- 
tached. There were various red lines, the 
remains of the half-obliterated wrinkles 
which Miss Jemima, with a singular fore- 
cast, had concentrated together in the rear 
of the scalp. She had a plain, long, gold 
pin, and a flower on her breast. She claim- 
ed the renowned town of Weathersfield as 
her birth-place, and had left Connecticut 
for the laudable purpose of teaching young 
ladies, improving her health, getting mo- 
ney and a husband. She had been recom- 
mended to Mrs. Conway as a pattern of 
piety and learning. She was recommended, 
especially, as well calculated to assist in 
ushering a young lady into the polite mys- 
teries of the better classes of society. In 
fact, she was the very kind of woman for 
whom Mrs. Conway had sighed to put the 
last touch to the education of her daughter. 
Miss Peabody had been regularly installed 
as governess, with many assurances of the 
great extent of the authority vested in her 
station, and she lost no occasion to main- 
tain it. The best means she knew was an 
implicit obedience to Mrs. Conway. There 
being no reasonable grounds of rivalship 
on the score of beauty, at least in Miss Je- 
mima’s mind ; she felt no jealousy on that 
delicate point. She was a pattern of primi- 
tive neatness and of unrelenting austerity ; 
was an early riser, and, by great servility 
and tact, (the result of much practice and 
hypocrisy,) had ingratiated herself into the 
confidence of Mrs. Conway. Her vanity 
alone was rebuked by the keen glance of 
that lady ; and her natural disposition to 
intermeddle with matters which did not 
concern herself, had led too far on this oc- 


casion, even for the confiding lady of the 
mansion; for, although, the latter was ta- 
lented and proud, and often irascible, yet 
she had too great a regard for her husband 
to suffer any one except herself, and that 
only on important occasions, to question 
the propriety of his conduct — for her daugh- 
ter her affection amounted almost to idol- 
atry. 

It had so happened, that Miss Jimmy, 
as the servants sometimes called her, by 
passing to and fro, and listening at the win- 
dow, had become acquainted with the fact, 
that Julian was in the hall with Col. Con- 
way ; and she overheard enough to cause 
great anxiety to dive deeper into the cause 
of his visit. Hence her unscrupulousness 
in taking the letter which Col. Conway had 
left on the table, in his confused state of 
mind. She had, after perusing it, carried 
it to Mrs. Conway, previously giving Ca- 
thena a most frightful account of its con- 
tents, and the liability of an immediate at- 
tack on the house. It was for the purpose 
of pacifying his daughter, and to give an 
explanation of the cause of the visit, that 
Col. Conway had been called into the 
house. 

Cathena, after a proper interval, was 
questioned by her father, as to her acquaint- 
ance with Julian ; the reason of his visit ; 
his standing with Notwood and other offi- 
cers in the royal service. And as parents 
are ever ready to imagine that their daugh- 
ters are, or should be, objects of regard by 
all real gentlemen, especially if the indi- 
cations seem thus to point — there might 
have been, in this case, some little suspi- 
cion that his visitor had some lurking feel- 
ings of the kind towards his daughter. 

“ Is this Julian Onslow any great favo- 
rite of yours, Cathena 1” inquired the fa- 
ther. 

The prompt reply was, “No, sir ! I have 
but a slight acquaintance with the gentle- 
man ; I did hear before I left Charleston, 
from Capt. Gant, that he was considered 
talented and brave, and was highly esteem- 
ed by some of the officers of the royal army. 
I further heard that he had said some- 
thing which threw my uncle Walden and 
brother into great excitement until a suit- 
able apology was made ; but Major Not- 
wood, I believe, rather approved of his 
course towards my uncle ; my brother was 
alone restrained from acting rashly by the 
interference of their mutual friends, (Capt. 
Gant and Major Notwood.) ^ But my uncle 
went away dissatisfied, saying that Ons- 
low was the mere tool of some designing 
enemies.” 


16 


ONSLOW, 


“Yes,” exclaimed, the Colonel, “the 
blood of the Waldens is hot and ungovern- 
able — my son will be misled by his uncle, 
whom he resembles in person and disposi- 
tion; but the safety of my property and 
family requires that I should continue neu- 
tral and cautious. Circumspection affords 
the best means of safety to you and your 
dear mother, however differently she may 
think. But can you tell me how the letter 
was abstracted from the parlor I” 

“ Miss Peabody brought it to my mother.” 

“ I wish,” continued the Colonel, with 
rather a bitter smile, “ that the Almighty 
would devise some means by which some 
one of the Whigs, Tories, or even Hessians 
would marry her.” 

“ You are cruel, father,” said Cathena, 
“ in such a wish : for Miss Jemima has de- 
clared her repugnance to the married state ; 
and an unalterable determination to retain 
her present name, which she sayfe is the 
most beautiful name in the world.” 

“ Pshaw !” muttered the Colonel, “ she 
is mistaken ; she is evidently on the look- 
out for a suitable companion.” 

A servant announced that breakfast was 
ready, which put an end to the foregoing 
conversation. The Colonel expected to 
hear a renewal of the biting sarcasms of 
his wife ; but she disappointed him most 
agreeably by assuming a cheerful air. The 
mild and affectionate remonstrance of her 
daughter — her evident distress at the angry 
rebuke of the morning, completely dis- 
armed her. She drew a contrast between 
her conduct and that of Cathena, and no- 
thing but her pride prevented her from 
making an apology for her rashness. Upon 
further inquiry and a cooler discussion of 
the subject, she was almost ready to justify 
the propriety of the course of her husband 
towards his haughty visitor and those who 
had sent him. 

Speaking of Julian, the Colonel declared 
that he was an extraordinary man ; so young 
in years, yet so difficult to unravel. 

“There is,” continued he, “an easy im- 
pertinence, a hardihood of countenance, 
which bewilders and perplexes me ; pro- 
fessing to be a friend or partisan of the 
continental Congress, and yet acting as 
collector for the king’s officers.” 

“ You know. Colonel,” replied Miss Pea- 
body, with a sickly smile, “ that money is 
the root of all evil, and he gets well paid 
for being a spy upon your family.” 

“ You ought to know, though I am at a 
loss to decide which is the worst, the inor- 
dinate desire to intermeddle in the domes- 
tic affairs of a family, or the more hazard- 


ous attempt to play the spy,” replied the 
Colonel, handing a plate of raw onions to 
the governess, wishing somewhat to divert 
her attention from his unwonted and caus- 
tic reply. 

“ VVhat has become of his boisterous 
companion, the quintessence of Goliah- 
ism V’ asked Mrs. Conway, looking at her 
husband with a bantering glance of good 
humor. 

“ Tell your mistress, Cato, where your 
particular friend, big fighting little Tim 
can be found.” 

“I can do that,” said Cato, stroking his 
sleek and shining forehead, at that time a 
little bare of hair, and rather unfurnished 
with clear ideas. “He is doing worry 
well at dis present time, madam. My old 
and particular friend had to ride late last 
night on the king’s business, in the chilly 
fogs, and he werry unfortunately took ra- 
ther too much on his raw and fasting stom- 
ach, for which I and Prudence are power- 
ful sorry.” 

“You must take the garret, Cato, or 
stand guard over your friend,” continued 
his mistress, “ for 1 have no idea of surren- 
dering as prisoner of war ; and as for your 
wife, she shall not be disturbed with your 
drunken friend, although he may be a great 
fighter, and particularly devoted to you. 
You may arrange the room, where you can 
be locked up in safety together; he to get 
sober, and you to learn wisdom, and pour 
out your strains of affection to his ears.” 

“Oh, missus,” exclaimed Cato, at this 
unexpected decree, “he sober now as I 
am ! But spose he git into one of he fight- 
ing ways, and choose to take me for his 
partner! And then spose he take it into 
ins head to jump out of the window, and 
break both of our necks 1 No, ma’rm, I 
can ’t trust myself so high off the y earth 
with my best friend; for I ’se seen hirr; 
tossed up in de elements same as a bull 
would one of your little fine dogs. Miss 
Jimmy, and he light upon his feet same as 
a cat; if he get hurt, his arm broke or his 
skull split, he keeps on fighting, and foam- 
ing and frothing, harder and harder, scratch- 
ing, and biting, and screaming and kicking, 
and at last if he enemy do n’t give up, he 
will drive his dirk home in a second, just 
as same as lightning.” 

“Providence protect us!” exclaimed 
Miss Peabody, “ from such merciless free- 
booters and midnight assassins; we are in 
momentary danger of our lives ! do n’t you 
think so, uncle Cato!” 

“Oh, no, Miss Jimmy ; he is, to be sure 
and sartain, one of the perlitest men in the 


A TALE OP THE SOUTH. 


17 


known world to de ladies ; I wish you could 
of seen him confabing- with Prudence Con- 
way this morning; now Prudence is werry 
particlar in her language herself, and she 
thinks Captain Tidder much of a gentle- 
man, otherwise she would have scorned his 
company. I’ll be bound she will give 
him the best she has, besides sending 
some little presents to his wife and chil- 
dren.” 

“Perhaps, after all, Cato, your friend is 
a good natured little fellow, a little too 
fond of his cups,” said Mrs. Conway, 
who had a high opinion of Cato’s veracity. 
“ You must let us know how you became 
acquainted with him, and how he succeed- 
ed in so completely dividing your affection 
between himself and Prudence, and how 
he came so overloaded with his warlike 
name.” 

“ Ah, missus, it is a melancholoby tale ; 
and maybe you would not like to hear it 
here before all the company.” 

“ Yes, Cato, our curiosity is excited ; but 
do drop your outlandish low country jar- 
gon.” 

“ Yes, uncle Cato, I like to hear the pen- 
sive and the melancholy ; it is better to go 
to the house of mourning than to the house 
of laughter,” said the governess, her fea- 
tures contending between the tight cord 
which bound her hair, and the effort to re- 
lax them into a sentimental mould. 

Cato, rubbing his forehead, as if to col- 
lect his ideas, and placing his right foot a 
little in advance, said — 

“ I begin when I lived with your bro- 
ther Micajah, and it was my identical 
friend now reposing himself on Prudence 
Conway’s bed, who brought us the news 
that the wild headed boy, Ben. Clannagan, 
was about to run away with your sister 
Rachel, and marry her — ” 

“ Oh ! it is too shocking ! Bring me my 
smelling salts ! And you have had an 
aunt to run away with a man, Cathena ! 
What a horrible misfortune. I cannot pos- 
sibly hear such tales,” exclaimed Miss 
Peabody, rising from the table, oversetting 
her chair, and bespattering her dress by 
overturning her plate. “ Fie on it ! I 
have ruined my dress ; I wish I had never 
heard of the affair. Did they get married 
after so much trouble, uncle Catol Do 
tell me that ; perhaps it is not so bad as I 
imagined. Did they get married, uncle 
Catol” 

“Oh, no. Miss Jimmy, no such bad luck 
to poor Miss Rachel.” 

^ Horrible ! shocking — shocking ! I 

would die, Cathena, before I would run 


away with a gentleman — with a lone man 
by myself.” 

“ You are in no danger, I think; unless 
you break ihrough your precepts, and the 
long example with which you have already 
furnished the world,” replied Cathena, 
more than usually nettled by the constant 
appeals which the governess had made to 
her. The tense features of the former 
struggled under this mixed compliment 
and rebuke to assume a smile of indiffer- 
ence ; but the palpable hit at her age was 
too strong, and the sardonic grin ended in 
a grimace of unalloyed pain and chagrin. 

“ You had better retire, Cato,” said Mrs. 
Conway, perceiving the turn that matters 
were taking ; “ Miss Peabody has been 
brought up in a way which forbids her 
hearing such scandalous tales. I fear her 
nerves are thoroughly shocked already.” 

“ Never mind, my dear Mrs. Conway; I 
am much better. It was only on your ac- 
count. Thank God ! I am too well forti- 
fied against temptations, ever to be injured 
myself. But I thought you would not like 
that Cathena should, at her tender age, 
hear of such improper examples in one of 
her own female relations ; for you know 
that the Lord’s prayer says, ‘ Lead us not 
into temptation.’ But as we are both pre- 
sent, and her father also, and as I have 
given seasonable advice, (which has not 
yet shown all its fruits,) and as I find it 
necessary to repeat it more bountifully, I 
hope uncle Cato will still proceed, for I do 
most assuredly delight in the plaintive.” 

Something like a momentary flash of 
anger shot from the dark blue eyes of Ca- 
thena, whilst her thin transparent skin 
was suffused from the neck to the fore- 
head. She thanked the governess for her 
past admonitions, regretted the little bene- 
fit which had resulted, and most imploring- 
ly besought her not to inflict any more les- 
sons so likely to prove equally unprofita- 
ble. In this state of feelings she arose 
from the table for the purpose of retiring 
to her room, when her father requested her 
to resume her seat, and with a determined 
tone and manner commanded Cato to pro- 
ceed with the unfinished biographical 
sketch of Captain Tidder. 

“ I first knew my friend. Captain Tid- 
der,” continued Cato, “ when lie was a 
little bit of a runt of a plough boy, working 
about from hand to mouth for his wituals 
and clothes ; and he was even then sixteen 
or eighteen years old.” 

“ Little people never show age,” said 
the now calm governess, as she handed up 
her third cup, remarking to Mrs. Conway 


18 


ONSLOW, 


that her coffee was admirable. “ The best, 
by far, Mrs. Conway, I have seen or tast- 
ed since I left the beautiful town of Wea- 
thersfield, where we obtained the best of 
teas, until Hancock and his compeers put 
a stop to its importation, in order to sell 
out their own smuggled inferior trash, 
which they had obtained cheap from the 
Dutch.” 

“ I believe,” said Cathena, “ that your 
town is renowned for raising more onions 
than all New England can consume; at 
least so says the ‘ General History of 
Connecticut' from which you have bor- 
rowed the account of Mr. Hancock’s arti- 
fice to sell his own tea. I suppose it was 
here you learned the practice of early ris- 
ing, in the laudable and healthy custom of 
cultivating onions before sunrise. The 
history which you so much admire, de- 
clares that, it is a rule with parents to buy 
annually a silk gown for each daughter 
above seven years old, till she is married. 
The young beauty is obliged in return to 
weed a patch of onions with her own 
hands, which she performs in the cool of 
the morning, before she dresses for her 
breakfast.” 

“ You must have a sight of dresses. Miss 
Jimmy, if you have one every year since 
you was a little girl of seven years. I 
wish you was only large and portly like 
my companion — I know you would make 
her a present of one for a keepsake.” 

“ I wish aunt Prudence was as delicate 
as I am,” said the delighted governess, at 
the compliment to her generous nature — 
“ I would most cheerfully make her seve- 
ral presents.” 

“ I know it. Miss Jimmy. But, as I was 
stating,” continued Cato, “ Captain Tidder 
was the boy who informed us that there 
was a foul plot between Mcllhaney and 
that boy Ben. Clannagan to carry off the 
poor dear child. Miss Rachel Walden. 
Sure enough, when we got up stairs, there 
lay the rope, and the pulley tied fast to the 
bedstead; I know how they fixed it; they 
made her tie the great big rope round her 
little small waist, which was enough to 
cut her in two — for I could have spanned it 
with ease — and then held the other end, 
and let her slide down by her own weight. 
And sure enough, when we pursued them 
there was the two children just standing 
upon the floor, ready to be married ; you 
may depend, we dashed up hard as our 
horses could carry us, or all would have 
been over. ‘ There ’s no time to be lost,’ 
shouted Captain Bucklebelt; ‘rush in, 
boys !’ And Timmy Tidder and myself 


I went to work in mortal good earnest on 
I the old magistrate with his one eye and 
I his spectacles, who was so fat he could 
hardly walk or stand on his feet ; but he 
got a gripe on my throat, and if my little 
friend had not fought with his dirk and 
teeth, I would never have swallowed any 
more wituals, for my tongue was as long 
as Captain Tidder’s hand. 1 could not 
halloo for help; and the' fire was rolling 
out of my eyes like the sparks from a 
blacksmith’s anvil ; I felt them starting 
out of my head — but, thank God ! my little 
friend was too hard for his adversary — the 
little David was too hard for the mighty 
Goliah — and when the steel found the 
giant’s ribs, he bleated, and shouted to the 
whole company to take us off! Then it 
was that Captain Bucklebelt clapped his 
hand on my friend’s shoulder, and said — 
‘Well done, big fighting little Timmy 
Tidder,’ I tell you all, he is the closest 
fighter, for his inches, on the face of the 
yearth. But poor Miss Rachel took sick 
and died. She never saw another well 
day. Everybody said her heart was bro- 
ken. She was a most proper child, mild 
and pretty, as fair as a lily, but she was 
very wrong to wish to marry into such a 
low family, considering how high-born she 
was. But I ’m told Ben. Clannagan is a 
great warrior now, and if he takes after 
the rest of his family, he will never be 
friends to any of her relations again ; they 
have too much of the rattlesnake not to 
strike, as long as they can find any body 
opposed to them. Poor Miss Rachel — she 
was a modest, sweet child. Oh ! Miss 
Cathena — my heart aches when I look at 
you, for you are her picture over again.” 

“ Do n’t, Cato,” said his mistress, “ do n’t 
make such allusions. I hope,” continued 
she, wiping her eyes, “ that such another 
calamity may never befall our family. Yes, 
I pray God ! such an one may never fall 
on my worst enemy.” 

The whole party were now thrown into 
confusion by the sudden appearance of a 
horse at full speed, without a rider. They 
all started to the door. 

“ I heard the report of guns this morn- 
ing — he may belong to some hunting par- 
ty,” said Col, Conway. 

“ No,” replied Cato, after inspecting the 
horse, “ this is the identical horse, saddle 
and bridle of the young gentleman who 
left here an hour ago. A mighty good 
sign to see a horse run back — it proof 
enough he been well tended to.” * 

“ Go, my dear husband,” said Mrs. Con- 
way, “and look into the affair; perhaps 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


19 


the unfortunate young man may have re- 
ceived an injury in a fall from his horse.” 

“Don’t be afraid, if you please, of ray 
friend Captain Tidder,” said Cato, to his 
mistress, as he was directed to prepare 
horses for himself and master ; “ he is fast 
asleep in Prudence’s house.” 

Having disposed of Capt. Tidder in a 
comfortable nap, to get sober. Col. Con- 
way and his man Cato being in pursuit of 
charitable purposes, the three ladies must 
be allowed to ponder over the unusual 
scenes of the morning, whilst the good 
reader must be informed that the three 
chapters which have been recorded, have 
been introduced somewhat out of order; 
but it is hoped not altogether unprofitably, 
as they furnished an opportunity of pre- 
• senting sundry items which would rather 
have broken in on the continuity of adven- 
tures yet to be recorded. The next chap- 
ter is not liable to such objections. 

CHAPTER IV. 

For gold the merchant ploughs the main, 

The farmer ploughs the manor, 

But glory is the sodger’s prize. 

The sodger’s wealth is honor. — Burns. 

Cleo-p . — Bearest thou her face in mind? is it 
Long or round? — Siiaks. 

Immediately after the surrender of 
Charleston, it was determined by the 
commander-in-chief, and other officers, to 
avoid all circumstances calculated to 
wound the pride or estrange the affec- 
tions of the colonists from the mother 
country. It was well known that Sir 
William Howe had been charged by the 
friends of the king as having essentially 
contributed to render the breach more 
lasting by his cruelties and want of com- 
mon kindness toward his prisoners. In 
order, therefore, to show a practical spirit 
of conciliation — to heal up differences and 
assuage the harassed feelings — re-unite 
ancient friendships, and give a new aspect 
to political affairs, a grand Conciliation 
Ball was projected. It was intended to 
mark the era of a return to friendship, and 
bring together those who had not met for 
years. A general invitation was extend- 
ed to the principal inhabitants of the coun- 
try, without distinction of parties. This 
was done to avoid rousing the lurking sus- 
picions of the rebels. Several of the 
managers were selected from those who 
lelonged to their ranks; having previous- 
ly consulted the wishes of many of the 


most respectable citizens in the city and 
country. 

Thus cautiously fortified by the advice 
and concurrence of many of the Whigs, the 
leaders of the opposite parly did not fail 
to use the fact to induce many to give 
their countenance to a general return to 
the royal cause. The broken chain be- 
tween the mother and the daughter was 
again to be united. Past calamities and 
quarrels were to be cast into oblivion. It 
did not require much forecast to predict 
that many would seize such an opportunity 
to avow their total abandonment of the con- 
tinental Congress, and to show to the lead- 
ers their new found zeal for their lawful 
sovereign. 

That which is seen in the natural at- 
mosphere, was seen in the moral: the 
mighty commotion overcoming and sweep- 
ing every thing in its train. It is true, 
that in the latter, as is seen in the former 
case, there stood some solitary exceptions 
— stern and stubborn spirits, which, like 
the tough oaks of the forest, would not bend 
to the tempest. 

The royal commissioners did not fail to 
make due efforts to induce those who came 
to the ball to join them in their designs. 
Perhaps they were sincere in their solemn 
declarations and proclamations at the time 
they were made; but subsequent counsels, 
or pretended discoveries of the insincerity 
of some of the Whig leaders, (which was 
alledged afterwards as the cause,) deter- 
mined them to pursue a course neither ex- 
pected by the inhabitants, nor justifiable 
under the strictest rules of war. 

The prevalence of the opinion that the 
war of resistance was at an end, was so 
general, that, as has already ffieen stated, 
most of the inhabitants of the south yield- 
ed up the contest as fruitless. They be- 
lieved that it would be downright madness 
to make further resistance. Men who had 
not met for years, except in battle array, 
prepared to meet as friends. Families, 
once familiar, essayed to reunite in friend- 
ship. Feuds and animosities were to be 
offered up on the altar of conciliation. 
The dormant and frozen feelings, like the 
flowers kept enchained by lengthened and 
uncongenial winters, burst forth in sudden 
and unexpected vigor and maturity. 

Among the officers connected with the 
British forces, who had distinguished them- 
selves for bravery and zeal, was Theodoric 
Gant. He was the third son of a respect- 
able family in England ; his nobility was 
traceable in a long line of ancestry. But 
the English laws of primogeniture, so just- 


20 


ONSLOW, 


ly obnoxious to the colonies, and to the 
younger sons of the old country, with the 
frittering process which numerous relations 
make in an estate, left our young officer 
with nothing but a good constitution, a fair 
name, an excellent education, and his com- 
mission in the invading army against the 
rebels. 

It was the good or bad fortune of Theo- 
doric Gant to have formed an intimate 
friendship with Major Stephen Notwood 
and his lady. The latter was a niece of 
Col. Conway, and had married at an early 
and inexperienced age. The attachment 
was sudden, and formed solely from ardent 
affection, against the advice of her friends 
and a widowed mother. But the tender 
passion was so firm, and the opposition so 
strong, that an elopement consummated the 
marriage. That happened in this case 
which does in most others of the kind — the 
most clamorous were the first to forgive 
and forget; whilst the names of those 
whose sympathies were excited and com- 
miseration expressed towards the insulted 
dignity of the parent and friends, were 
handed over as the real opponents and se- 
cret detractors of the unknown worth and 
talents of the forgiven and much-beloved 
son-in-law. 

Mrs. Notwood was a good wife, and 
would have made a happy one, had any other 
gentleman married her. She followed the 
fashions quietly ; visited the sick, partly 
from duty, and partly from curiosity. She 
was the mother of two children, and was 
passionately fond of them and her hus- 
band’s friends; whilst she believed her hus- 
band the most perfect man then in exist- 
ence. He was the very reverse of his wife. 
He was tall and remarkably handsome ; his 
dark hair fell plentifully over a high and 
well developed forehead. His beaming 
black eyes spoke volumes. His melodious 
voice, which he knew how to modulate, 
and a fine form assisted in setting off the 
exterior of a perfect gentleman. He had 
the features- of intelligence and candor; 
no man was better calculated to deceive 
his enemies, entrap his friends, and accom- 
plish his designs. Quick, cunning and re- 
spectful — he could assume the indifference 
of an anchorite, or the coolness of a stoic. 
Wo to the listener who fell under his 
glozing tongue, or yielded to his melting 
appeals ; what argument failed to do ad- 
dress and art accomplished. He attached 
himself with ardor to the royalists, and 
found his reward in a Major’s commission. 
He was held in great estimation by his 
party, and had no small share in directing 


the temper and tone of the several procla- 
mations and circulars which were sent forth. 
Nay, several were supposed to have ema- 
nated from his pen. He was an English- 
man by birth, and although his parents left 
him a helpless orphan, yet he rose alone by 
his own industry and abilities to his present 
station. 

Miss Cathena Conway, already mention- 
ed in a preceding chapter, was, at the time 
of the ball, on a visit to her relatives. She 
had seen but little of general society, ow- 
ing to the troubles and dangers of the war. 
Major Notwood had been at the pains of 
sending his wife partly on the way to meet 
her, in order that she might be at the ball, 
and spend a few days with his family. Her 
father, although sensible of the deficiency 
of his daughter in a proper knowledge of 
society, seriously opposed her visit, being 
unwilling to lose the pleasure of her com- 
pany. He was willing, for his own private 
enjoyment, to sacrifice, in some degree, the 
future happiness of his daughter. But the 
entreaties of Cathena, and the potent de- 
termination of Mrs. Conway, seconded by 
the arguments and advice of her governess, 
who prudently withheld them until she as- 
certained the unalterable decree of her pa- 
troness, were successful. 

Who has not taken a hand in that uni- 
versal game, at which all play, a marriage 
affair 1 that every-day occurrence. What 
pains are taken ! what lengths are gone 
by those who have not the remotest inter- 
est, except that arising from the momenta- 
ry excitement ! Who has not spent days 
and hours in match-making 1 — at once the 
most thriftless in gratitude, and the most 
fruitful in engendering bitter animosities 
and lasting enmities — of all the pursuits 
which idleness or curiosity could fall upon. 
Who has escaped the contagious example, 
full of secret advice and ill -disguised ar- 
rangements to get the intended lovers to- 
gether! the suppression of offensive w'ords, 
and the addition of favorable ones ; sur- 
mises on the leanings of parents and guar- 
dians, leading the unsuspecting lover blind- 
fold into disappointment, or the confiding 
girl into hopes which are never to be re- 
alized. Sporting with her happiness, and 
breaking with a rude hand the tender 
cords of the heart. It were well if those 
who engage so warmly in love affairs, sole- 
ly for the pleasurable excitement which 
they produce, could be induced to consult 
the future happiness of the parties, as well 
as the feelings of parents and friends. 

“ Well, my dear fellow,” said Major 
Notwood to his friend, “ I have promised 


A TALE OP THE SOUTH. 


21 


the Carolinian that you should be intro- 
duced to her this evening at my house.” 

“ How unfortunate !” exclaimed Gant — 
“ I am engaged to attend Miss Dash wood 
and tlie exquisite Mrs. Armond to the ball ; 
I should have been delighted to go round 
and offer my services to her, and intro- 
duce myself under her auspices to the 
brilliant scene ; but is she a Republican, a 
Whig, or a Tory 1 

“ If she takes after her spirited mother,” 
said Notwood, “ she is as stanch as the 
best loyalist at St. James’s. But if after the 
father, why she is neutral — milk and wa- 
ter ! — but never fbar, she has already de- 
clared for equality and independence, and 
that may be ominous of the temper of her 
mind to weigh matters for herself.” 

“ But you know the poet says,” replied 
Gant, as he parted with Notwood, 

“ The course of true love never did run smooth.” 


CHAPTER V. 

The long carousal shakes the illumin’d hall, 

Well speeds alike the banquet and the ball, 

And the gay dance of bounding beauty’s train 
Links grace and harmony in happiest chain. 

It is a sight the careful brow might smooth. 

And make age smile, and dream itself to youth, 
And youth forget such hour was past on earth, 
So springs the exulting bosom to that mirth. 

Byron. 

Who has not been to a ball 1 — the brilliant 
and gorgeous pageant where beauty pre- 
sides ! Who has not felt his heart softened, 
and his ills and melancholy assuaged by 
the notes of the floating music 1 Who has 
not forgotten, in the thrilling scene, the 
cares and misfortunes of life 1 and deemed, 
amidst the revelry and joyous exultation 
of excited feelings, that his happiness was 
enlarged, and that he had found the scenes 
of unalloyed bliss 1 Alas! that the delu- 
sion is destined to vanish ! — that it is wrong 
to dream, to act in defiance of the admoni- 
tions of the good and the discreet counsels 
of the wise I 

The floating drapery — the bounding 
spring of exulting beauty — the glowing 
features and rosy smile — the thrilling touch 
— the softened and balmy whisper — the 
sigh of love — the laughing eye — speaking 
its language of hope, with all the grace- 
fulness of motion ; and all the appliances 
of innocent mirth were seen, felt, and en- 
joyed, at the grand conciliation ball. 

The evening was mild, and the air elas- 
tic — the unclouded sky twinkled with stars 
— and the moon teemed with mellow light 

3 


— the steeples glittered in splendor, and 
the wide expanded bay, unruffled by a 
breeze, lay like a sparkling mirror — whilst 
the glancing light of the sentinel’s bayonet 
betrayed his movements, as he paced to 
and fro on his post of duty. It was one of 
those rare nights, when sleep flies from the 
eyes, as if conscious that the brief and 
transient moments were too precious to be 
lost in the gross enjoyment of mental inac- 
tion — when the sublimated feelings look up 
to the sky, and attempt to pierce its spark- 
ling canopy, or trace out the future destiny 
of the immortal part of man — a night when 
conscience whispers its mildest admonitions 
freed from its gorgon terrors — when love is 
pure and spotless, and seeks some star to 
worship as its divinity. 

It would be impossible to describe the 
interior of the ball-room. Every thing 
calculated to wound the pride, or revive 
ancient grudges, and more recent recollec- 
tions of an unplesant nature, had been 
carefully avoided. Splendid chandeliers 
were suspended, and shed a thousand hues 
and tints from their prismatic glasses. Fes- 
toons of vines and flowers decorated the 
room, and paintings, commemorative of the 
occasion, were suspended conspicuously in 
the hall. 

Great pains had been taken to procure 
a good band of music ; the army and thea- 
tre having furnished their best performers. 

The banqueting room, if possible, was 
more splendidly decorated than the other. 
Both parties had volunteered some of their 
costly and rich wares and plate for the oc- 
casion. Old and long hidden wines emerg- 
ed from their unbroken darkness, to be 
pledged in a health to beauty, or a huge 
bumper to renewed friendship. 

At an early hour the hall was lighted 
up, and the splendid carriages and vehicles 
wheeled rapidly up under the animated 
guidance of jovial and well dressed ser- 
vants ; the occasional crack of the whip 
which escaped unconsciously from the ex- 
uberant gush of feelings of the coachman ; 
the laugh of servants and boys in the 
streets ; the hasty and buoyant step of the 
gay belles and beaux as they approached 
— all announced that the hour for the com- 
mencement of the ball had arrived. 

Major Notwood, accompanied by Cathe- 
na, came rather later than most of the com- 
pany ; the ladies being determined not to be 
unfashionable. — After some little difficulty 
at the doors, they succeeded in making 
good their entrance into the ball-room. 

It was in a blaze of splendor. The notes 
of the music reverberated from every angle 


22 


ONSLOW, 


of the room. The beauty and fashion of 
the city and country liad congregated 
— and the i;ich and brilliant jewelry of the 
ladies — sparkling knee-buckles and gay 
knee-ribbons of the gentlemen, were in 
unison with the life and animation of the 
scene. 

A few of the Whig ladies, who had, here- 
tofore, obstinately refused to mingle with 
the British and loyalists, while their bro- 
thers and fathers, or friends, were in arms 
or in prison, now that a more honorable and 
liberal course had been adopted, were in- 
duced, through the entreaties of many of 
the most influential officers of the British 
army, and many of the Whigs then on pa- 
role, to grace with their presence the 
splendid assembly. 

The usual restraint and stiffness of de- 
meanor, as if by mutual consent, were 
thrown aside. The officers of both armies 
retained barely enough of their national 
costume to be known, not wishing to ex- 
cite any unpleasant feelings by the display 
of their respective military dresses. 

The party of Miss Conway w^as approach- 
ed by a rich though plainly dressed gentle- 
man; his unform indicated that he belonged 
to the royal army. He was rather over the 
middle size in height, with a sedate and 
rather a stubborn cast of features. His air 
was that of one conscious of superiority 
and accustomed to command. He appeared 
to be in the prime and vigor of life. It 
was Lord Cornwallis, who, after an intro- 
duction to Miss Conway, condescended to 
lead her off in the next dance. She blushed 
and declined, somewhat confusedly, alledg- 
ing as an excuse, that she was/not suffi- 
ciently acquainted with the peculiar figures 
of the dance. He passed on to other groups 
with the i^rne air of dignity and careless 
indifference. 

“ Yonder is Sir Henry Clinton, arm-in- 
arm with his late prisoner ; why, the Re- 
publican must be turning his coat ! they 
are coming to us,” said Not wood to the 
ladies. 

A round? short, jovial looking man, rich- 
ly dressed, with sparkling large eyes, fair 
complexion, round face, high and full fore- 
head, now came up, with a very graceful 
and somewhat tall young man hanging on 
his arm. “ Upon my honor,” exclaimed 
Sir Henry, “ I am glad to see you, Major 
Notwood, and I take great pleasure in giv- 
ing you an opportunity of becoming ac- 
quainted with my particular friend, Mr. 
Julian Onslow.” 

The two gentlemen were severally in- 
troduced to Miss Conw and Mrs. Not- 


wood. Sir Henry passed on evidently in 
high spirits, greeting his acquaintances, 
and making himself agreeable to the nu- 
merous strangers with whom he mingled. 

“ I am extremely happy to see you out, 
Onslow,” said the fashionable Notwood, “I 
was fearful that your republican scruples, 
and your harsh treatment, would have in- 
duced you to forego the pleasure of the 
conciliation ball ; but I am glad to know 
that you have a soul too large to yield to 
malice, when your country is to receive the 
benefit of the sacrifice. The patriot has 
to yield his private wrongs when the pub- 
lic weal is at stake. Your noble example 
will no doubt have a salutary influence on 
the conduct of others. I hope, sir, we shall 
be more intimate friends, now that the olive 
branch comes between the sword and the 
dagger.” 

Julian only made a bow of assent. 

“ You find Sir Henry affable and kind,” 
continued the speaker; “no doubt he re- 
grets the course he pursued towards you. 
I have been at some pains to change the 
course of our foreign friends towards our 
opponents here; and, sir, without boasting 
to your face, I have had some little agency 
in the procurement of your enlargement.” 

“ Then,” said Julian with surprise, “I am 
indebted to you for such disinterested and 
gratuitous kindness 1 I shall never cease 
to retain a proper sense of the great obli- 
gation which I owe you.” 

“ No obligation, my dear Onsolw; but, sir, 
let me bespeak your attention to the ladies ; 
for I must not be outdone by Sir Henry. 
He seems the lord of the ascendant. He 
passes from group to group, infusing his own 
happy feelings and spirit of good fellowship 
in the assembly. “But look,” continued 
Notwood, “yonder is the gruff and stubborn 
Maj. Walden ; the last man in Carolina 
that I thought would have come here. The 
war is ended ; peace will be restored ; the 
spirit of revolt and retaliation must be 
over.” 

Sir Henry Clinton now came forward 
and led off the next set spiritedly, with 
Mrs. Notwood. Cathena soon afterwards, 
with some degree of timidity, ventured to 
request Julian to see her to a difierentpart 
of the room. “ I think,” said she, “ I caught 
a glimpse of my uncle and brother.” 

Julian complied most cheerfully, saying 
to his fair companion, “Be so good. Miss 
Conway, as to point out your relatives to 
me, and I will attempt to make a way 
through J|:he crowd to them.” 

“ They are near us now,” replied Cathe- 
na ; “I see they are busily engaged in 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


23 


conversation ; the gentleman now speaking 
to Lord Cornwallis is my uncle Micajah 
Walden ; the youth on his right is my bro- 
ther Edward.” 

“ My lord,” said the gentleman pointed 
out by Miss Conway as her uncle, suf- 
ficiently loud to be heard, “this is my 
nephew, Edward Conway.” 

“ I am,” said his lordship taking Edward 
by the hand, “ extremely glad to meet with 
the son of Col. Conway ; your father has 
had the prudence never to have been found 
in arms against the cause of justice, and 
the appearance here to-night of so many 
men of worth, all uniting in one common 
purpose, augurs a happy and amicable ad- 
justment of all our present difficulties.” 

“ I differ with your lordship,” said Major 
Walden, his face flushed with excitement, 
and his features assuming a stern and an- 
gry appearance, “ as to the side of justice ; 
but let that pass. The contest on our part 
is soon over, unless we are driven to the 
wall ; and to-morrow, with the conditions 
specified in the proclamation, I shall take 
my parole as a prisoner of war. 

“ Why not as a subject of the king 1” 
asked Notwood, who had been anxiously 
watching the conversation.” 

“ Because, sir, 1 have the poor alternative 
of a choice ; and I choose a parole,” repli- 
ed Major Walden, evidently chafed by the 
question. 

Lord Cornwallis was anxious to divert 
the conversation from the unpleasant turn 
it had taken ; for he perceived that he had 
touched a jarring chord and that Major 
Notwood had still further added to its dis- 
sonance. “ Where is your excellent neigh- 
bor, Col. Grayson } I had expected to have 
seen him to-night,” said his lordship. 

“ I know nothing of him,” replied the 
Major,” biting his lip and knitting together 
his dark shaggy eyebrows, into a frown of 
ill repressed discontent. Edward gently 
held the arm of his uncle, answering the 
question of Lord Cornwallis. 

“ Our neighbor, I understand, is in bad 
health, and his daughter’s recent arrival 
from the north, have both, I apprehend, con- 
tributed to prevent his attendance here.” 

“ What right, sir,” exclaimed his uncle, 
“ have you to know any thing of Col. Gray- 
son’s affairs I” 

“No right whatever, my dear uncle,” 
replied Edward, “ except to state what I 
have heard.” 

“Yes! yes!” replied the Eirl,” deter- 
mined not to notice the ill humor of the 
one, or the embarrassment of the other, “ I 
recollect Miss Grayson ; she came round 


with our late troops from New York, in 
company with Mrs. Arbuckle, and her sis- 
ter Mrs. Armond.” 

Julian, who had been an attentive listen- 
er to the above conversation, suddenly be- 
came agitaied. “ I believe,” said he to 
Miss Conway, “ I must find you a seat, I 
have become nervous from the crowded 
room.” Edward, who had discovered his 
sister, drew his uncle from the group, 
where he was so unpleasantly harassed, 
and came immediately to her. 

Cathena, without waiting for a salutation, 
exclaimed, “My dear brother, do attend to 
Mr. Onslow ; I fear he is quite ill ; he looks 
pale, and trembles, as if he were unable to 
find a seat without assistance.” 

“ No sir, no sir !” said Julian, confused- 
ly, “ I am not sick, a little fresh air will 
restore me,” and he turned towards the 
door ; but before he had time to reach it, 
he had measurably recovered from his in- 
explicable sensation ; for the exertions he 
had to make in the crowd in order to reach 
the door, which led to a spacious garden, 
and the delay necessary to allow sufficient 
room to the dancers whilst turning in their 
figures, gave him time for a little reflec- 
tion ; and if the sudden nervousness did not 
arise from bodily indisposition, was well 
calculated to give time for his recovery. 

The meeting of Cathena with her rela- 
tives, was sufficiently emphatic to attract 
the attention of Captain Gant and some 
female friends. 

“ What girl is that. Captain Gant)” ask- 
ed one of the ladies. “ She will fall into 
spasms.” 

“ Yes,” replied Mrs. Arbuckle, “I think. 
Miss Dash wood, you are right, but let me 
recommend you to take lessons in panto- 
mime from her; she certainly is frantic; 
look, she will eat up that awkward gawky 
by her side.” 

“ Heavens, look !” said Miss Dashwood, 
“ her hands must be bloodshot, from the 
hearty shake that old bachelor gave them.” 

Capt. Gant needed no intimation to 
look; he had already noticed Cathena 
whilst hanging on the arm of Julian; and 
knew that she was the fair cousin of Mrs. 
Notwood ; and had been gazing with rather 
an unwonted abstraction on her beautiful 
countenance. He was almost ready to 
contradict abruptly the opinions and decla- 
rations of the two ladies ; but he was re- 
lieved by Mrs. Armond, who expostulating- 
ly said, “ Why, sister, she is the most beau- 
tiful girl 1 have seen to-night from the 
country: and if you were not present, my 
dear Miss Dashwood, I would say even 


24 


ONSLOW, 


from the city. Aha ! Julian, come this 
way ; do tell us what beautiful young lady 
you have been escorting to-night"? Why, 
the contagion has already taken with him ; 
he is deaf and dumb ! I say, Mr. Onslow, 
tell us the name of the fair stranger.” 

“ Do excuse me,” said Julian, “ I was en- 
deavoring to get to the fresh air, and did 
not notice your question ; her name is Miss 
Conway, and she is a cousin to the wife of 
Maj. Notwood.” 

“ How pale you look !” said Mrs. Armond 
with surprise ; “ do take my salts — yes, get 
to the open air ; do take my arm, the crowd 
will more readily let you pass.” 

In a few minutes Julian had greatly re- 
covered, and found himself walking alone 
with the young and beautiful Mrs. Julia 
Armond. “I hope you are not sick,” she 
said with the most enchanting earnestness. 

“No,” he replied, “I am only nervous 
from the overheated room — or” 

“Or what, my dear Julian? was Miss 
Conway an old acquaintance ? had you just 
met?” 

“ You are mistaken, my dear madam ; I 
never saw her before to-night. I thank 
you for your goodness ; I am much better.” 

“ Oh my dearest friend, I am delighted 
to hear that you are better, I have been 
much alarmed ; I can now enjoy the walk. 
What a lovely night ! how cool and serene 
is the air My dear Julian, your heart 
beats ; I can hear it throb ! throb ! throb ! 

I know you are ill; let me feel your pulse; 
how your hand trembles ! Do let us return 
to the house ; for I am certain that you are 
very ill.” 

“ Oh no, my dear Mrs. Armond, you are 
mistaken ; I am not sick ; I assure you I 
am not ; but I have heard and seen enough 
to-night to put a heart under the very ribs 
of death.” 

“ But, Julian, I know you will not deceive 
me; are you not engaged to St. Ille Gray- 
son ?” 

“By Heavens ! you will run me mad. I 
am not stock nor stone ; why send dagger 
after dagger to my heart ; do let me en- 
treat you to cease such questions.” 

“Dear Julian, don’t be angry. I cer- 
tainly believe you; come, let us walk to 
yonder rose bush, presenting its blushing 
flowers to the sweet moon beams. 

“But stop, look at that windmill tossing 
its arms in the air, like sheeted ghosts ! Are 
you afraid of ghosts, Julian ?” 

He felt his arm more closely pressed ; a 
beautiful and confiding young widow by 
moonlight, splendidly decorated for the ball, 
leaving all its gayety, to walk with a young 


soldier, without friends or fortune, and now 
closely clinging as if alarmed, to him for 
protection. 

“ Why, my dearest Julia,” (Julian had 
some how or other caught the endearing 
language of his beautiful companion) “what- 
ever gave you such an idea ?” 

“ Because I saw something like a ghost 
at the foot of the garden !” 

“ Come, Julia, don’t be alarmed ; it is on- 
ly a glancing leaf of the palma christi in 
the moonlight, or some straggler from the 
heated ball room.” 

“ No, see ! see !” said she, clinging still 
more closely to his arm. 

“ My dearest Julia, don’t be frightened,” 
whispered Julian. I see them ; they are 
gentlemen, and have flung their handker- 
chiefs over their heads.” 

“ Let us avoid them,” said the fair com- 
panion of Julian, still hesitating a belief. 

An arbor of the willow rose, and a large 
cluster of shrubs effectually screened them 
from observation. 

“ I tell you. Sir Henry,” said one of the 
persons, who had stopped on the other side of 
the arbor from Julian, “ you see it was 
the right policy to get them committed ; 
we have got them to lay down their arms; 
let us force them into our ranks. Now is 
the time to act, we have already spent our 
time, men and money ; done violence to 
our consciences, and all for naught.” 

“ Very true. Major Notwood, but what is 
the plan to be pursued?” 

“ It is a safe, and simple one, Sir Henry ; 
confiscate the property of the d — d rebels ; 
— exact a reasonable compensation for our 
trouble and expenses from our neutral 
friends. They dare not refuse, nor com- 
plain. Lord Rawdon and Col. Clannagan 
are of the same opinion with myself ; I am 
willing to begin first with my own rela- 
tives.” 

“ But, my dear Major, we have offered 
them pardon and protection.” 

“True; but let them enrol themselves, 
and assist in their own protection. Let me 
tell you that these brawlers for liberty and 
equality will become troublesome, unless 
they are kept down. I know Sumpter and 
Marion too well. Horry and Bucklebelt, 
and even Walden, although here to-night, 
will rise at the first gleam of success.” 

“ But I will see Walden,” said Sir Hen- 
ry, “and pledge him to our cause or at 
least to assist us in keeping down all rebel- 
lion. His presence here to-night augurs 
well, and he is related to Col. Conway.” 

“ It will be useless,” replied Notwood, 
for he is as ungovernable and as surly as a 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


25 


bear ; and seems ready to quarrel even now, 
about oppression, and has all the cant of 
the republican demagogues.” 

Julian had heard enough, and was now 
more anxious than ever to escape the ob- 
servation of the two friends. He softly 
whispered, “Do, my dear Julia, let us return 
to the house.” 

“Not yet; oh! I am so relieved; I 
thought I knew the figure — I thought it 
was the ghost or the person of my dear 
husband.” 

“ Was his name Cornelius 1” asked Ju- 
lian, had he a commission in Grey’s regi- 
ment!” 

“ Yes! yes ! do you know any thing of 
him ! do unravel the mystery which hangs 
over his fate ! do tell me ; is he alive ! is 
he dead! speak, Julian ! 

A wild shriek announced the agitation 
of her mind ; and she fell lifeless in the 
arms of Julian; who, alarmed and confused, 
was about conveying her to the house, 
when the two officers, who were still near, 
heard the shriek and rushed from behind 
the arbor. 

“ How is this ! What is the matter ! — 
By Heavens,” said Sir Henry, “ if you have 
insulted her,” seeing that Julian hesitated 
and stammered, whilst he gazed on the 
pale and immovable features rivaling the 
whiteness and purity of the moon beams, 
that fell distinctly on them, as she lay ap- 
parently lifeless. 

“ You need make no insinuations ; you 
shall make none,” replied Julian ; “ 1 will 
appeal to the lady’s own account,” he con- 
tinued, evidently embarrassed and agitated. 

“ That must be at the bar of God,” said 
Notwood, taking hold of her motionless 
hand and attempting to find a pulse. 

“ Oh my God !” said Julian, “ she is not 
dead. He seized her arm and said with 
agitation “ No ! no ! no ! her pulse beats, 
do feel. Sir Henry.” 

“Oh my dear Julian,” whispered the 
pale and languid fair one, “ did they hear 
me shriek! — did I shriek aloud, Julian !” 

“ Go for her sister. Major Notwood ; I 
really do not know what to do,” said Sir 
Henry anxiously. 

“ Oh ! is that you. Sir Henry ! — then 
you have seen my weakness ; do, my dear 
Sir Henry, call him back ; do not disturb 
the whole ball room. It was only a fright, 
a nervous attack,” said Mrs. Armond ; 
springing on her feet suddenly from the bed 
of thyme and chamomile flowers, on which 
she had been placed. 

Jutian attempted to call Major Notwood 
back at her request, but it was too late; 


Miss Dashwood and Mrs. Arbuckle had al- 
ready heard a vague account of the matter 
from a servant maid, who, hearing the cry 
of alarm, had overheard the conversation 
between Julian and Sir Henry. But ere 
they could arrive at the spot, Mrs. Julia 
Armond had adjusted her hair, and had 
taken hold of the arm of Sir Henry, ready 
to proceed back to the ball room. 


CHAPTER VI. 

As plays the sun upon the glassy streams, 

Twinkling another counterleited beam, 

So seems this gorgeous beauty to mine eyes. 

King Henry VI. 

Mrs. Julia Armond having entirely re- 
covered from the sudden and alarming in- 
disposition noticed in the last chapter, en- 
tered the dancing room leaning on the arm 
of Sir Henry Clinton. She seemed to be 
in unwonted high spirits. As the rain- 
bow gilds the brow of the receding cloud, 
so smiles and blushes played on the beauti- 
ful features so lately distorted with con- 
tending emotions. To those who knew her, 
they proved that a tempest had passed over 
the serenity of her mind, but to the gay 
and mixed crowd of revellers intent on 
pleasure, her buoyancy and the heightened 
flush only showed olT more completely the 
elasticity of her step and the beauty of her 
features. 

“ Who is that leaning on the arm of Sir 
Henry, and surrounded by so many anxious 
to be noticed by her, or to get an opportu- 
nity of looking at her! Do tell me, Mrs. 
Notwood,” whispered Major Walden loud 
enough for every person to hear him. “ I 
swear she is the most beautiful woman I 
have seen in twenty years ! What a form ! 
what an eye ! single or married ! I will 
never leave the room until I dance with 
her, although I have long since forsworn 
the amusement.” 

“ You must not perjure yourself, Major,” 
replied Mrs. Notwood, “and as it has been 
twenty years I fear you will be a little 
awkward.” 

“ Oh as to the oath, it was only for the 
want of an opportunity, and as to my age, 
I am not yet mustered amongst the old 
men.” 

“ Nor even amongst hopeless old bache- 
lors, yet; I am glad to hear you speak of 
the beauty of the sex ; it proves that there 
is a magic in an eye. No doubt you feel 
what you say ; you shall dance yourself, 
and Mrs. Armond, into love. Come, Major, 


26 


ONSLOW, 


continued Mrs. Notwood taking him by the 
hand, “ you shall go and be introduced, for 
I fear that you meditate a retreat, judging 
from the respectful distance you have so 
studiously observed towards the ladies to- 
night.” 

Unfortunately for the Major, the fair 
hand was already engaged tor the next 
dance. “Will you favor me then so far 
as to dance the next set with me 1” asked 
the disconcerted Major. 

“ I am engaged with Earl Cornwallis.” 

“ Perhaps then I may claim the next af- 
terwards, if you will not be too much ex- 
hausted by so many engagements.” 

“ I am sorry to say that it will be then, 
as now ; I am engaged to dance with Sir 
Henry Clinton.” 

The music struck up;— Julian led out 
Mrs. Armond, Capt. Gant had prevailed on 
Miss Conway, who agreed to join in a 
contra-dance ; whilst Miss Dashwood had 
caused him to engage Edward Conway for 
her partner. Major Walden turned on his 
heel and almost cursed his bad fortune and 
efforts, and a ray of momentary displeasure 
flashed over his brow, as Julian dashed 
merrily around in the joyous circle with 
his young and beautiful partner. 

How shall I describe thee, Julia Armondl 
“An angel’s form ’s fall’n to thy share.” 

With a rich profusion of glossy hair, a 
complexion where the rose and the lily 
mingle so gently, that their colors cannot 
be separated ; a soft speaking blue eye, 
quenching its quick fires ; in the mild tears 
ever ready to bedew the couch of the un- 
fortunate ; Wo ! to the gazer, who looked 
too long on the silken fringe-work that 
broke its radiance. The animated mouth, 
ever ready to smile, or to give utterance to 
the most bewitching sounds. 

“ Her lips are like the cherries ripe, 

That sunny walls from Boreas screen, 
They tempt the taste, and charm the sight.” 

Who can describe that living intelligence, 
that compels the beholder to look 1 To re- 
collect ! Yes! recollect in daydreams ! And 
in distant lands to see thee in the visions of 
night I To wake and find thee gone, though 
fixed forever in his memory! Sweet Julia 
Armond ! Who could forget thy melan- 
choly loveliness of countenance 1 — the inex- 
plicable thrill which thy soft melodious voice 
produced 1 The victim which plays within 
the charmed circle, and looks on the fas- 
cinating gaze of its painted destroyer — the 
fabled bird that woos the moon and feeds on 
its silver beams, are not more enraptured 
— are not more enthralled. Come hither, 


my little cherub ! Sweet Mary ! My dear- 
est daughter ! Come, say papa ! Kiss me, 
sweetest — what a beaming eye ! See — 
the transparent skin ; the beautiful veins, 
now rising, now hiding like the gentle rill 
amidst a bed of roses and violets. Em- 
blem of innocence ! — of health and beauty! 
— Julia Armond ! whoever saw thee with- 
out thinking of a child ! a daughter ! the 
gem of stainless purity ! ! 

Julian having seated his partner sought 
an opportunity of speaking in private to 
Maj. Walden. 

“ I have,” said he, “ a matter of some 
importance for your ear.” 

“Very well, sir— out with it!” was the 
gruff reply. 

“ It must be private — walk with me,”^ 
said Julian, gently taking hold of the full 
strong arm of his unwilling follower. 
After reaching a shade made by the 
house, he said — 

“ I hope. Major Walden, there is no ne- 
cessity for an excuse, especially as the 
matter mainly concerns yourself, and I 
have but little time to consume.” 

“ And I less to hear,” replied the impa- 
tient listener. 

Julian did not deem it necessary to break 
off the conference. 

“ Where are Marion and Sumpter 

“ I do not know.” 

“ It is time that you did, for you stand 
upon a precipice. You abandon the con- 
tinental Congress for pleasure, whilst 
your comrades and countrymen are ex- 
iles, or seek safety in swamps and mo- 
rasses. Beware of a promise of neutrality ! 
beware of a parole ! You will not observe 
it.” 

“ Stop, sir,” exclaimed Walden, highly 
irritated, “ how dare you to question my 
motives or my conduct! Leave my pre- 
sence, instantly !” 

Several persons hearing the angry words 
of Major Walden, who stood shaking with 
rage, ran to him. Inquiry was made as to 
the cause of the insult, but Julian had 
walked off, unwilling to disturb the assem- 
bly, or unnecessarily encounter a frantic 
man, who was in no fit mood to hear an 
explanation, even if he had been disposed 
to attempt one. 

Gant and Notwood, judging that Major 
Walden had been insulted by a person who 
appeared there under suspicious circum- 
stances, immediately ordered the soldiers, 
or rather the guards, to arrest him. 

Sir Henry and Edward Conway .both 
came out to the spot, where the crowd had 
gathered. 


A TALE OP THE SOUTH. 


27 


“ What is the matter, Major Walden]” 
asked Sir Henry. 

“ Nothing is the matter, Sir Henry 
Clinton, only an old Whig has been at- 
tempted to be circumvented ; plans have 
been laid to implicate me. If my neck is 
worth the rope it will take to stretch it, 
why here it is, sir ! Is this the amnesty ] 
the pacification]” 

Sir Henry, not exactly relishing the di- 
rect allusion to his friends, or to himself, 
turned off. Julian, in the mean while, per- 
ceiving that an arrest had taken place, and 
not wishing that an innocent person should 
suffer, nor to shrink from a proper re- 
sponsibility, walked up and deliberately 
acknowledged that he was the person of 
whom Major Walden complained — saying 
to those present — 

“ I am responsible for what I said to 
the testy gentleman, and if any person 
wishes to resent or question my conduct, 
I pledge myself to give him proper satis- 
faction.” 

“ I am the person who claims the right 
to settle the matter — ” 

“ You have no right, Edward, to enter 
into such arrangements here,” said Nut- 
wood, “although I admire the readiness 
you exhibit to take off one of your Whig 
friends.” 

“ I have this explanation to make,” said 
Julian, “ to Major Walden and his nephew, 
wlio may take it for what it is worth. I 
did not intend to insult Major Walden, far 
from it. I had my own private reasons for 
wishing to converse with him ; but I find 
lie has wholly misunderstood my inten- 
tions.” 

Notwood and Gant exerted themselves 
to bring about an understanding of the 
matter, but Major Walden started to his 
lodgings, telling Edward to let the vaga- 
bon'd spy alone. Edward, however, pro- 
fessed to be fully satisfied, the intimation 
that Julian had been a Whig having a con- 
siderable influence in causing an adjust- 
ment of the difficulty. 

Maj. Notwood immediately seized the 
arms of Edward and Julian, and walked 
into an adjoining room, which was crowd- 
ed with players at all kinds of games. 

“We will go halves, young gentlemen.” 

Julian declined, and Edward positively 
refused. 

“ Well,” continued Notwood, “I must 
let you off, Edward ; for my aunt would 
never forgive me if she were to find out 
that her good nephew had seduced her son 
into a gaming-house. But Julian — by St^ 
George ! you shall play.” 


“ I am ignorant of the game, and what 
is a surer safeguard, I am entirely out of 
funds.” 

“ I will play and pay, or rather win for 
both. You shall play — I’ll take no ex- 
cuse. None of your puritanical squeam- 
ishness here, my good fellow!” 

“ I will not sponge on you, Major Not- 
wood — you must excuse me. I will re- 
turn with Mr. Conway to the ball-room.” 

“Stay, Julian — I have staked heavily 
on the luck of your countenance. You 
must stay !” 

Notwood won. 

“ Look ! I bet in the pot; and here ’s to 
us, as they say in the country — ‘ good pot 
luck !’ ” 

“There!” exclaimed Julian, who had 
become interested — “ won again ! Major 
Notwood, I ’ll look half the night to get 
such luck for a friend.” 

“ Well,” said Notwood, “ lay down your- 
self— perhaps you will be as lucky on the 
king. I know you are opposed to his 
majesty over the water — but try him 
here.” 

Julian refused, and Notwood threw 
down on the king. It won — he let it lie. 
It doubled — it still lay — and it doubled 
again ! 

“ Take half,” said Notwood. 

“No,” replied Julian. 

“You shall hold these,” said Notwood, 
thrusting several pieces of gold into the 
hands of Julian. 

“ Come, captain — the love-sick captain — 
I ’ll try you in partnership awhile. Come, 
give me some of your lucky looks.” 

“No more of your partnerships,” said 
the red whiskered dealer. “ Simon Sny- 
der can’t play against all the luck and 
heads of the two armies — but down with 
your metal. I ’ll not take the damned 
continental trash — take it up ! I’ll not 
be fooled with it ! There — there ! I have 
won.” 

“ You have slipped a card,” said Not- 
wood. “ Did you see the knave slip it 
under his thigh ]” 

“Go on, sir,” said the dealer, “I’ll try 
you a few more turns.” 

Notwood played high. He lost. He 
called on Julian, who gave him every 
cent back. 

“ Here,” said Notwood, “ on each of 
these four cards I place my stakes, and I 
will lose all, or break the bank.” 

“You have won,” said the dealer; 
“ damn the luck !” 

“ I ’ll parallee on each,” said Notwood, 
coolly. 


28 


ONSLOW, 


“ You have won again,” said the dealer, 
“ take up your money.” 

“ I ’ll press on each again,” said Not- 
wood. 

“ Then, by G — d ! I ’m broke !” ex- 
claimed the dealer — “and you have not 
acted fairly. I will not pay the last.” 

“ You shall ! you lying scroundrel !” ex- 
claimed Notwood. 

Snyder returned the lie, and drew out a 
pistol — and firing it at Notwood, sprung 
out of the window, after seizing what 
funds he could gather from the other 
tables, and in the confusion and uproar, 
made his escape. 

The ladies were alarmed at the noise 
and confusion. The guard ran in, and 
amidst the consternation and general rush 
of those in the ffaminof-room into the ball- 
room, the whole party was thrown into 
disorder, and each gentleman sought his 
wife, daughter, or female friend, to see 
her safe at home, out of the scene of up- 
roar and danger. 

The banquet is over — the beauty and 
fashion are gone ; gay hearts and smiling 
faces are not now to be seen ; the music 
is hushed ; the happy are not there ; the 
brilliant conciliation ball has passed away, 
like the gorgeous drapery of an autumnal 
evening’s glowing sunset. 

“jCaptain Gant, what has become of 
your recent convert to allegiance 1 I fear 
the confusion of the night may disturb her 
political opinions, and her new-found pre- 
dilections for some of his majesty’s repre- 
sentatives at the ball.” 

“ Upon my word. Miss Dashwood,” re- 
plied Gant, who was attending her and 
Mrs. Arbuckle from the ball, “ I fear my- 
self that the disorder and confusion will 
give her a bad opinion of our cause.” 

“ Ask me to the wedding,” continued 
Miss Dashwood, “ I ’ll be your bride- 
maid, provided you will marry her in the 
city, or order out a regiment of soldiers to 
guard us against a surprise from the rebels 
in the country.” 

“ I do not woo by regiments nor proxies, 
and therefore cannot expect to wed in that 
way.” 

“I like her freshness of complexion and 
manners,” said Mrs. Arbuckle ; “ we must 
call on this new divinity of Captain Gant’s 
— this spy in the camp. I must not suffer 
a surprise, nor allow her to steal a march 
on you. Miss Dashwood. I fear that one 
of our guards has been wounded by a pair 
of soft blue eyes, and won over by a few 
smiles. What say you — guilty, or not 
guilty 1” 


“ I hope I am not compelled to criminate 
myself,” replied Gant. 

Julian, in the confusion at the ball-room, 
had discovered that Mrs. Armond was 
without an attendant, and he immediately 
offered her his arm. They were some lit- 
tle distance behind the company whose 
conversation has just been noticed. 

“ I fear,” said Julia, “ that I have acted 
imprudently to-night. You do not know 
the interest I feel in your fate. It was I 
who caused my sister to join in obtaining 
your release from the vile confinement in 
the prison-ship, wnich sailed with us from 
New York. I even entreated Sir Henry 
Clinton myself to release and parole you.” 

“ How',” asked Julian, “did you know 
that there was such an unfortunate prisoner 
on board as I was 1” 

“ I heard Miss Grayson ask Colonel Ar- 
buckle if there w^as a prisoner by the name 
of Julian Onslow on board. She described 
you to me. She was extremely ill during 
the voyage. I became interested in you. 
I was anxious for your release, and finally 
I made the most pathetic appeals, and thus 
you have obtained your enlargement and 
your parole. Julian, look on me as a sis- 
ter. I cannot tell why, but I feel a deep, 
a vital interest in your wmlfare. My dear 
Julian (for so I will call you,) do grant me 
one request.” 

“Any thing, my dearest friend,” said 
Julian, “I will most cheerfully grant,” 
evidently moved by what he had heard. 

“Oh! Julian — you are so kind; but 
the — the — I have not courage to name the 
subject now.” 

“ Why notl” asked Julian, beginning to 
feel exceedingly awkw^ard and embar- 
rassed — “ why not 1 If it is of Miss Gray- 
son, I declare we are not now engaged.” 

“Not now engaged! then you have 
loved her ! Ah, Julian! my happiness is 
forever blasted, unless you — I know you 
think me imprudent — the world — yes, the 
world might — Julian, I fear you blame me! 
You do not feel for my situation.” 

“ My dearest Julia, my friend, my more 
than friend, I do not blame you. Speak 
freely, frankly — if it is of love, of friend- 
ship, even of marriage — W'anderer, out- 
cast, and poor as I am, I will obey to the 
utmost of my abilities — I will assist you in 
accomplishing your wishes.” 

“Oh, Julian ! you are so noble, so gen- 
tle — such a friend as I love ; but I dare 
not trust myself, for fear you may attribute 
my conduct to motives which I dare not 
entertain. I will be more guarded in fu- 
ture.” 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


29 


^ Julian felt and heard the magic of a 
sigh — he looked in the face of his fair 
friend — she was in tears. 

“I swear,” said Julian, “ this must not 
be ! Speak, Julia — you must speak out !” 

“ I will,” said Julia, convulsively ; “ can 
you tell me any thing of my husband — tell 
me, Julian 1” 

“ Yes, I will say this — he is dead ! I 
saw him breathe his last dying sigh.” 

“ Tell me, Julian,” said she, clenching 
his arm firmly, “did he fall by your 
handl” 

The last words fell like the hiss of the 
striking serpent on his ears. Julian hesi- 
tated. 

“ Speak the truth, Julian — before Hea- 
ven, I call on you ! I have been told that 
you know all about his fate. Speak, I 
conjure you.” 

“ He did not ! my dearest, Julia. No — 
no ! I thank God, that I can say I waited 
on him faithfull}'-, and helped to consign 
him to that house from whence no one re- 
turns. We fought on different sides, it is 
true ; but he fell by another hand — an un- 
known one. His blood is not on me.” 

Mrs. Arbuckle, noticing that her sister 
and Julian were behind, caused her com- 
panions to stop. 

“ Here,” she said, “ Julia, take the arm 
of the sighing Captain, and let me ascer- 
tain whether Mr. Onslow has escaped the 
smiles and blushes of the southern belle.” 

“ My object,” said Mrs. Arbuckle, after 
she had made the proposed arrangement, 
“ is to ascertain the precise understanding 
between Julia and yourself — the sick fit of 
yourself, the fainting scene in the garden, 
the whole of the circumstances from your 
first acquaintance to the present moment, 
demand a frank and candid development 
on your part to me her sister ; I am her 
guardian ; she is young, beautiful, and 
perhaps romantic in her views. I, there- 
fore, have a right to know if there are any 
engagements between you. Have you 
made a declaration of your affection 1 
has she acknowledged a reciprocal feel- 
ing?” 

“I hope,” said Jiilian, greatly aston- 
ished, “ that you do not think I have act- 
ed with any impropriety towards your 
sister or yourself, Mrs. Arbuckle?” 

“ I shall decline answering the question 
of the propriety or impropriety of your con- 
duct until you answer the questions which 
I have a right to ask.” 

“ It gives me great pain to differ with 
you, madam,” said Julian; “but I shall 
decline answering all the questions, but 


one — I am engaged to no lady, and do not 
expect to have either the good or bad for- 
tune for many a long day.” 

“ Then, sir, I am to understand that you 
are not a suitor for the hand of Mrs. Ar- 
mond ?” 

“ By no means, madam ; I dare not 
avow a higher or warmer sentiment than 
friendship or gratitude.” 

“ Indeed !” exclaimed Miss Dashwood, 
overhearing the words “ friendship” and 
“ gratitude” — “you are dealing with dan- 
gerous words there, Mr. Onslow ; they are 
so apt to mean a more tender passion. Do 
they not, Julia?” 

“ I believe we have at last arrived at 
our rooms,” said Mrs. Armond, affecting 
not to hear the question, or willing not to 
notice it. 

The two gentlemen having wished the 
ladies a good-night, retired to a hotel. They 
had not been long in bed, (having taken 
one together,) when they heard through 
the thin partition of a wall covered with a 
newspaper — the plastering having fallen 
off— the strong voice of Major Walden. 
They both recognized it at the same time. 

“ Who is that, this time of night ?” 

“ It is I, uncle,” answered a low, cau- 
tious voice. 

“ Why, Edward, my son, come to bed. 
The rascally tavern keepers have put us 
together. It is a long while since I slept 
with you.” 

“ Never before, uncle — but I hope it will 
not be the last time.” 

“ What the devil are you afraid of, Ed- 
ward, that you are whispering as if I was 
laboring under inflammation of the brain? 
I can ’t see how you can be frolicking and 
carousing with these marauders and mur- 
derers — I cannot sleep for thinking of that 
impertinent spy, sent by the designing 
rascals to pick me. I would give a thou- 
sand pounds sterling to see Marion and 
Horry — yes, even to see Bucklebelt. To 
think of their insult ! their attempt to cir- 
cumvent me ! to pump me ! I ’ll not en- 
dure such an affront !” 

“ Uncle ! my dear uncle, you will rouse 
the whole house. You are not in the 
country, by your own fireside — you will be 
overheard.” 

“ Shall we let them know that they are 
already overheard ?” asked Julian of Gant ; 
for he was unwilling that the two Whigs 
should say any thing calculated to impli- 
cate themselves, although he had been so 
harshly noticed by Major W alden. 

“No — no,” said Gant, “let them alone. 
They can do us no harm by giving utterance 


30 


ONSLOW, 


to their thoughts, and I am sure I feel no 
disposition to take any undue advantage of 
what I may accidentally overhear between 
two relations, especially after such a splen- 
did display of beauty and fashion, and such 
excellent wine, too,” added Gant, half in- 
sinuating, by his chuckling emphasis, that 
he thought it had some little agency in the 
conversation then going on in the adjoin- 
ing room. 

“Well, my son, come close to me. My 
conscience tells me I have done wrong — 
there is a terrible Storm brewing — can you 
mingle oil and water 1 can you screw 
down the pent up gas, without bursting 
the fragile receiver! I tell you, Edward, 
we are sleeping over a fired train ! our 
cause is immortal ! Our countrymen else- 
where, but in the South, are struggling 
manfully for victory ; our firm and patriotic 
Congressmen are risking all for their coun- 
try. We are supine — gulled by the char- 
latanry of a ball, by proclamations, paroles 
and protection. No ! I ’ll not take a pa- 
role — I will not tie up my hands, for I 
swear I will strike as long as there are 
materials to oppose.” 

“ But, uncle, where is the reason or vir- 
tue in resistance in a cause so lost and 
hopeless, as ours evidently is! Pardon and 
royal protection will bring the timid and 
the wavering together under the banner of 
the king. As regards myself, I am ready 
to lay down my life for my country ; but 
I could never forgive myself if I were to 
hold out hopes to the gallant friends of 
liberty. I cannot think of plunging their 
families into all 1 he horrors of want. The 
anguish of body and mind, the distress and 
blood of the confiding and unwary would 
fall on our heads — Heaven would not hold 
us guiltless.” 

“ The brother of Miss Conway speaks 
good sense,” whispered Gant. 

“Aye, Edward,” exclaimed Major Wal- 
den, “you speak like a Walden, worthy of 
your ancestors. I have misled you by 
coming here ; we are taken in — deceived 
— we must leave this pestilential city — it 
smells rank with the fumes of revelry and 
the blood of freedom’s martyrs. Fool that 
I am, to have shaken hands with such blood- 
stained monsters ! What will the true 
hearts say, when they hear that I have 
mingled and feasted with their enemies ! 
Alas ! they will despise me ; but I will die 
with them.” 

“And so will I,” exclaimed Edward, 
“ whenever and wherever I see a prospect 
of success. To the field or to the gibbet ; 
whoever raises the standard shall have a 


follower. Here, uncle, is the hand and the 
heart, aye, and the blood too, if necessary, 
for our country.” 

“ Let me clasp thee in my arms,” sobbed 
the affectionate uncle. “ I knew the battle- 
cry would rouse the sleeping lightning in 
thy young veins. Alas ! that Arthur Con- 
way should hold alliance with our foes ! I 
would rather have burned this right arm 
to the wrist, than to have gone to that ball 
and clasped the hands of my country’s 
plunderers. The sight of them raised the 
dormant fires in me. The time will come 
— shall come, when the red bolt of retribu- 
tion shall fall upon our oppressors. Sleep, 
Edward, and prepare thyself for the strife, 
and to spur up thy countrymen to break the 
dreams of protection. Their silken cords 
will be turned to scorpion stings of bondage ! 
Sleep, my son — recruit thy strength from 
the exhaustion of vain rejoicings over the 
downfall of thy native State. Yes, we 
have sinned, my son, and may God give us 
time to atone for it, by acts yvorthy of the 
glorious cause. But to bed, Edward ; for 
early — aye, by sunrise, we must leave the 
infected atmosphere of slaves.” 

Julian had listened with emotions of 
dread and pleasure. He hoped that Capt. 
Gant would not report the conversation ; in 
fact he was evidently fast asleep several 
minutes before the ending of Major Wal- 
den’s patriotic exhortation to his nephew. 
He longed for an opportunity to explain his 
reasons for his attempted advice at the ball- 
room. He was greatly rejoiced that there 
was nothing to be apprehended from the 
plot of Sir Henry and Notwood against 
the allegiance of this stout-hearted VVhig. 

Julian rose early from his short repose, 
and barely had time to explain to Edward, 
that most of the conversation of himself 
and uncle had been overheard. “ As re- 
gards myself it is sacred,” he said, as he 
shook Edward by the hand. 

“ Of course,” replied Edward, “and from 
Capt. Gant we have nothing to apprehend ; 
but I spoke my sentiments, come what 
may.” 


CHAPTER VH. 

His calm, broad, thoughtless aspect breathed repose* 
Castle of Indolence. 

Julio. But think you ’tis a fault to be found sober ? 
Grac. It is capital treason. 

Massinger’s Duke of Milan. 

After the departure of Major Walden 
and his nephew from Charleston, nothing 
worthy of record transpired until the even- 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


31 


iug of the second day ; when, as they ap- 
proached a low, dingy looking house, with 
a large sign board on which was written 
“ The Blue House — Entertainment for Man 
and Beast, by Hez. Higginbotham,” the 
following conversation occurred : — 

“ What say you, Edward — shall we put 
up at the Blue House, or go on further] I 
know Higginbotham is a Tory ; but his wife, 
from all that I can learn, is disposed to fa- 
vor our cause. She is cousin to Lieutenant 
Coldfire, and that is some evidence of her 
leanings.” 

“ Perhaps we can do no better to-night, 
uncle,” was the brief reply of Edward. 

Our travelers rode up, and before they 
had asked for lodgings, were met by the 
landlord, and accosted somewhat in the fol- 
lowing strain : — 

“ Light, gentlemen — walk in and take 
seats; never mind your horses; I’ll have 
them well taken care of — I never neglet a 
traveler’s horse ; it is more important to 
attend to it than the owner — though I do 
my best, which is but poorly these hard 
times; but, thank God, none has ever 
starved yet ; but I don’t know how soon if 
the wars keep up — yes, gentlemen, your 
horses shall be attended to, and that well 
— so soon as my two sons, Sammy and Da- 
vy, and my hostler Sawney gets back from 
the field. Upon my word, did not expect 
you this evening, or they should have been 
in place. There, waiter, just hitch them 
to the rack — they will stand. Walk in, 
gentlemen — quite sultry for the season — 
excellent for crops — grass begins to look 
very bold.', Will we have an excellent 
crop year] — very sickly, I fear, for there 
are so many insects — and Doctor String- 
halt, I understand, says no better evidence 
of a doctor’s harvest — though I can’t com- 
plain of their bills. I can’t get a squash, 
cucumber, pumpkin, or mush-million to 
grow for the plaguy insects; — what’s the 
news, gentlemen] — have any thing to 
drink, gentlemen, after your ride 1 — per- 
haps you would prefer a fire — have one as 
soon as the boys get back — can ’t think what 
makes them stay. I think I saw you both, 
gentlemen, two weeks ago, as Col. Tarle- 
ton and Col. Cruger passed up into the 
interior.” 

“ In company with whom did you say, 
sir]” asked Major Walden, who had be- 
come somewhat annoyed already with his 
host. 

“ With Col. Tarleton and Col. Cruger, 
gentlemen.” 

“ It is not the fact, sir.” 

“ Beg pardon, gentlemen — meant no of- 


; ! 

fence — yes, a mistake — they were less like 
gentlemen, and more talking. W’ill your 
horses stand together, all tliree — I've plen- 
ty of stalls by turning mine out and bell- 
ing them — they are apt to pester the neigh- 
bors, but I can hobble old Jack, the greatest 
rogue in the neighborhood ; makes nothing 
to unlatch a gate or door ; — beg pardon, 
gentlemen, I will ask your servant ; I know 
such matters are left to gentlemen’s ser- 
vants, provided they are trusty ; — yours 
looks like a fine fellow ; — very hard to get 
one that is worth the ammunition that it 
would take to kill him ; but Sawney is a 
confounded good one, a little too head- 
strong — snores rather too much for com- 
fortable sleeping in the same room, and 
very hard of hearing at times — I am not 
so certain that he is not deceitful ; I wish 
I could be certain. I’d give him the mis- 
chief.” 

By this time the w'hole yard was in an- 
uproar — every child, white or black, with 
dogs and puppies, were in full chase after 
chickens, ducks, turkeys and geese. The 
whole feathered tribe were thrown into 
alarm. 

The children screamed — the hostess and 
her dirty cook bawled, but to no purpose. 
Young Hezekiah had been too fast, and in 
the moment of exultation, chopped off* the 
neck of a favorite Malay hen ! “ You mur- 
derous beast,” exclaimed his mother. 

“ He is a brave boy,” exclaimed his fa- 
ther. 

The condemned culprit was seized by 
his mother and dragged into the piazza ; 
he instinctively clapped his hands to his 
ears, burying his neck between his shoul- 
ders to avoid the pummelling his mother 
lustily poured on his head and shoulders. 

“ Darn the old hen,” muttered the pout- 
ing boy, as his mother shoved him headlong 
out at the door. 

“ I beg your pardon, gentlemen,” said the 
hostess, turning first to one and then the 
other of our travelers, “ I am obliged to 
correct Hezekiah; his father will ruin him 
forever. If you have any commands about 
supper be so good as to let me hear them.” 

“ You appear to be doing very well, ma- 
dam,” replied Major Walden, looking at 
the decapitated hen, “ and I shall leave the 
matter to your own convenience.” 

“ Aye, gentlemen,” exclaimed the host 
as his wife retired, “ the boy is a true chip 
of the old block; just like his mother, as 
good game as ever fluttered a wing. Colo- 
nel Clannagan thinks him a first rate fel- 
low, and Gen. Marion says if he were 
well educated and taught morality, he 


32 


ONSLOW, 


would make a man of promise ; both par- 
ties think him smart, do you know either 
of them 

“ I have heard of both,” replied Ed- 
ward. 

“ Yes, no doubt you have ; and which do 
you like the best, youn^ man, the King’s 
man or the Liberty man 1” 

Edward cast an inquiring glance at his 
uncle, who was washing his hands, but he 
could read nothing in his countenance as 
to what answer he should give. 

“ Speak your mind freely, young friend,” 
continued the innkeeper, becoming some- 
what doubtful of the propriety of the ques- 
tion. “ It is all one to me — I accommo- 
date both sides ; you need not fear to speak 
to me.” 

“ Fear to speak to you !” exclaimed Ma- 
jor Walden, dashing the wooden noggin 
with violence into the yard — “fear to 
speak to you ! No, sir, not to Cornwallis — 
nor to King George himself ; who but a 
cut-throat Tory would be afraid to say 
which was the Patriot and which the 
Tory !” 

Major Walden picked up his hat and 
strode out of the house; whilst the redoubt- 
able Hezekiah pulled off his wide-brimmed 
straw hat, and commenced fanning himself 
as if it were the middle of summer. He 
was truly a man of large dimensions, much 
after the ancient Sir John Falstaff, with a 
Bardolphian nose, which might have figured 
amongst the Strasburghers, as one scarcely 
inferior to that which threw them into such 
ecstasies of astonishment. It served as 
the grand chorus to Sawney’s performance 
at night,- and the invaluable conduit to the 
humors of the liver, and thermometer to 
tlie weather. Hitching up his pantaloons, 
which hung on his hips rather loosely, he 
flung his leg over the greasy and nail be- 
spattered railing of the piazza, and thrust- 
ing his hand into his waistcoat pocket, he 
drew out his steel tobacco box, and com- 
menced chewing at a most furious rate. 

“ We have had bad luck in our cause, 
sir,” continued Hezekiah, who had been 
thrown somewhat into a perplexed state of 
mind ; “ very bad, sir. I much fear that 
our armies are failing in their valor, or 
that Providence is against us; and the 
last time I saw Marion, he was in low spi- 
rits, and was about to leave the State as 
lost. In fact, I should not be surprised if 
he went off to France, as I understand he 
is of French extraction. What a difference 
between those little fellows and our Buck- 
skin Americans like myself! It is true, he 
was born in South Carolina, but that does 


not matter, the blood must be foreign. I 
confess, sir, I do not know your name, and 
I dislike to put the point-blank question in 
a man’s face, and say, ‘ sir, what is your 
name 1’ but I will trouble you so far as to 
ask you the name of the gentleman who is 
with you 1” 

“ His name is Micajah Walden, and is 
my uncle.” 

“Is it possible? I knew him like a 
book. About the time I used to be bar- 
keeper for Emanuel Immerson. He saw 
me have a hard fight and here is my receipt. 
It is well it was the middle finger of the 
left hand which I lost instead of the right 
one, but I blotted the right peeper of that 
d — d Mcllhany. Did you ever see the 
hypocritical old Scotch scoundrel ? 

Edward replied that he had heard of 
him. 

“ Aye, to be sure, and who has not ? Sir, 
he is leagued in with all the lowest rascals 
of both sides; I know he is, and I ’ll war- 
rant he feathers his nest yet before the 
wars are over. I have lately heard, from 
one of his old associates, matters which 
ought to swing him without a trial, civil 
or military. Well ! well ! I told my wife 
when I saw )mu coming, that you were 
either the king’s officers or gentlemen of 
wealth and breeding. I said, ‘ look how 
the largest one sits his horse 1’ Upon my 
word, he did ride as much to my liking as 
any man. It is strange he did not recog- 
nize me. I think you favor him ; what is 
your name, sir, if I may be so bold ?” 

“Edward Conway.” 

“ Yes, I have heard Major Notwood 
speak of your father as a most excellent 
man. Do n’t you think the Major a most 
elegant and accomplished fellow ?” 

“ I have but little acquaintance with 
him; he appears to be well versed in all 
the rules of politeness,” replied Edward. 

“ I am afraid he is no great friend to your 
uncle ; but I do n’t know, he is so full of 
his jokes that I never know when to be- 
lieve him.” 

“ Wliy, has he threatened any injury ?” 
asked Edward. 

“ No, not exactly ; but he says that the 
wealth of the country does not belong to 
the enemies of the king, and that the ne- 
groes shall yet be taken from the Whigs. 
I heard him say that he believed old Wal- 
den had done the king’s cause a great in- 
jury by his kindness to the poor, and that 
he was a relation to the Conways and they 
to Walden; and that he had as much right 
to his property as that rebel boy, meaning 
you, I suppose.” 


A TALE OP THE SOUTH. 


33 


“ The traitor must not speak thus of 
me,” said Edward, “ nor in a disrespectful 
manner of my uncle.” 

“ They will be apt to be civil now, as 
every thing will be quiet, though there is 
no accounting for mankind,” said Higgin- 
botham, as he went out to attend to the 
horses, his ostler and sons liaving returned. 

Whilst the preceding conversation was 
going on between Edward and the host, an 
interesting interview had been held be- 
tween the hostess and Major Walden; for 
no sooner had the Major left the piazza 
than he was requested by his servant to 
walk into the kitchen, and the good lady 
without much cerernony commenced in a 
loud tone of voice, “ I ’m glad to see you. 
Major Walden; I’ve heard a great deal 
about you from my old man, and also from 
the officers ; I understand you have been to 
Charleston. Do, sir, tell me the news ! 
Come this way, and take a seat on the loom 
bench, out of the smoke and way of the 
cook and children.” 

The Major, somewhat surprised, and not 
altogether relishing the easy manner in 
which the ball was alluded to, was on the 
point of objecting, but he recollected that 
he had heard that the hostess of the Blue 
House was to be relied on, and in conside- 
ration of her patriotism he determined to 
gratify her. But she soon changed her 
tone when she was certain that she would 
not be overheard. 

“ I hope,” continued the good lady, “ that 
you have not all given up the cause of 
liberty ; I am sorry to hear that so many 
went to that ball ; it was a mere trap. The 
last time I saw Marion and Horry they 
told me that every thing looked gloomy ; 
but that they never would yield, and they 
said Sumpter was always in the field. Oh ! 
Major Walden, I hope you are not gone 
over to the king and taken protection under 
such men as Notwood, Tarleton and Clan- 
nagan ; for let me assure you that it is all 
a pretence ; they will murder and plunder 
as much as ever, and the greatest safety is 
in still determining never to yield. I 
would this minute see my house on fir^, 
before I would give up the cause. And I 
would have been dragged in chains to the 
ball before I would have danced with them. 
And I think from what I can gather, that 
there is a dark plot against your character 
and property going on ; and I wished to 
warn you against the whole squad.” ^ 

The Major asked her if she distinctly 
understood the nature of the scheme, and 
the actors engaged in it ; to which she re- 
plied. 


“ Not exactly ; something about Edward 
Conway being removed from under your 
care, and something about an old grudge 
between you and Clannagan ; and likewise 
the necessity of confiscating all the estates 
of those who would not join the king’s 
cause. I believe I may say that Major 
Notwood, Colonel Clannagan, old Mcllha- 
ney, and one Jeffrey Jarvis, a kind of ifio- 
ney finder, are the secret managers of the 
whole scheme. But, Major, keep my name 
a profound secret ; fbr if my old man knew 
what I was telling you, he would almost 
stand on his head. But I am for liberty 
and its friends, let what will happen. Yes, 

I am of the Whig principles, and some of 
my relations are now fighting for its cause, 
and some have spilt their blood to nourish 
the tree of liberty. And although some of 
our Generals are captured, yet Gefferal Ma- 
rion and his friend Horry told me that they 
were going to North Carolina and to Vir- 
ginia for fresh recruits.” 

“ Aye,” exclaimed Major Walden, seiz- 
ing his hostess by the hand, “ thank God, 
I ’ll yet see these rascals driven from the 
country in spite of their plots.” 

“ But, Major,” continued the good lady, 
“go into the house and I will get your 
supper ; be on your guard against Clanna- 
gan and Notwood; they intend you no 
good.” 

Major Walden, in spite of this ominous 
warning, assumed a more cheerful counte- 
nance, and for the sake of the hostess 
treated her Tory husband with more atten- 
tion, until he and his nephew departed, 
which was early on the following morning. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

They make their own wrongs that are too secure, 
As well as such as give them growth and being, 
From mere imagination. 

The Bondman. 

Temper your heart 

And lose not by too sudden rashness that 
Which, be but patient, will be offered to you ! 

The Maid of Honor. 

As soon as the Major and his nephew 
with their trusty servant arrived at home, 
which was the same day after their depar- 
ture from the Blue House, Gabbleton, the 
overseer, informed Major Walden that he 
had been honored with strange visitors. 

“ Yes, sir, strange people indeed.” ^ 

“ Who were they, Mr. Gabbleton 1” 

“ Why, Major Walden, I do n’t know 
exactly what to say to your question ; one 


34 


ONSLOW, 


was, I believe, a sort of an ignorant root 
doctor, or rather a kind of a tinker, and 
said he wished very much to see you on 
important matters, such as ores and metals 
and mines which he had lately found; he 
told me to tell you to be sure to remain at 
home, as he would call on you with speci- 
mens of his metals; he said that he was 
an old acquaintance, and that his name 
was Geoffrey Jarvis, Mineralogist.” 

“ Geoffrey Jarvis, Mineralogist! a pretty 
imposing title in these times of continental 
currency. I think I knew him,” continued 
the Major, “about twenty years ago; a 
stout, active, quick-minded fellow ; full of 
theories and new schemes ; and solnewhat 
inclined to play the orator when I knew 
him, in the character •f a field preacher, 
and exhorter at night meetings. He was 
a famous singer, and finally turned the 
whole neighborhood into a scientific sing- 
ing school. He used to be a great favorite 
with my mother, who supplied him with 
clothes and good dinners, until my father 
got him into a scrape, by persuading him 
to address one of the wealthiest girls in the 
country. After getting a cursing or two, 
lie desisted from his siege, and 1 believe 
finally abandoned^the neighborhood to go 
to Philadelphia to study medicine or some- 
thing of the kind.” 

“ I should like to have fallen in with him 
at one of his night meetings at your grand- 
father’s negro quarters,” said Gabbleton, 
winking at Edward. “ And if he is not of 
the right stamp now. I’ll open an account 
with him yet,” continued Gabbleton, signi- 
ficantly nodding his head, “ which shall 
nearly swallow up principal and interest.” 

Major Walden seemed not to have no- 
ticed what passed, being at the moment 
apparently abstracted. He suddenly com- 
menced again, by saying, 

“ Your grandmother, my dear Edward, 
was a good and pious woman : charitable, 
docile, a pattern of frugality and industry ; 
with a warm and affectionate heart.” 

“ And how was my grandfather in com- 
parison to his pious lady !” asked Edward. 

“ Exactly the reverse, and I fear we 
both inherit too much of his impetuosity of 
temper. High-minded and honorable I be- 
lieve him to have been : punctilious even to 
a fault ; he was haughty and proud ; and I 
have reason to believe when roused to 
anger, vindictive — at least to his equals. 
He had a great dislike to innovations, and 
was attached to the old order of things in 
church and state ; though I have no doubt 
that his good sense and proud spirit would 
have, if he had lived, caused him to espouse 
the cause of liberty.” 


“Yes,” answered Edward, “he certainly 
would have seen such flagrant injustice, 
such palpable frauds upon the common 
rights of all, that he could not have hesi- 
tated a moment as to his course. But how 
could he with such a disposition tolerate a 
visionary theorist about him!” 

“I believe he thought him a genius, and 
the good fellow was so complaisant, and so 
conveniently acquiescing to my father’s 
notions and whims, as to cause him a deal 
of merriment. But I have always suspect- 
ed that he was partly kept as a text for my 
father to annoy, in a good natured way, 
your grandmother ; and I have no question 
that much of the pretensions and extrava- 
gance of the fellow, is partly chargeable to 
the grave advice and encouragement of my 
father, who assumed, when he chose, an 
air of gravity or good humored raillery, 
wholly irresistible to a man with the enthu- 
siasm and credulity of Jarvis. It is no unu- 
sual occurrence to find great reserve and 
haughtiness to equals assume a modified 
garb of broad humor and condescending 
familiarity ; and it seemed as if it was sin- 
gularly exemplified in the intercourse of 
my father with his worthy and talented 
young friend, as he was wont to style him. 
It was the subject of remark with those 
best acquainted with him. It had the ef- 
fect, however, with the community, to cause 
Jarvis to pass as a young man of great pro- 
mise, who had fortunately met with the 
fostering hand of kindness.” 

“ If you have got through, Major Wal- 
den, with that tinker, I will,” said Gabble- 
ton, twirling his long whip in his hand, un- 
consciously, giving it a variety of flourish- 
es “tell the balance of the news.” 

“ Go on,” said the Major. 

“ Well, gentlemen, I hardly know what 
to say as regards the others, as they were 
ladies.” 

“ Ladies, you say Gabbleton !” asked the 
Major. 

“ Yes, sir ! two bona fide women ! they 
left a note, or letter ; they were confound- 
ed nice looking people ; here is the letter, 
sir.” 

“ This is strange,” said the old bachelor, 

“ I have not been honored in this way ex- 
cept by express request for many years. I 
must set this down to your account, Ed- 
ward.” 

“I have no objection, uncle, to half of the 
account or half of the benefit, always how- 
ever giving you choice.” 

The Major, after reading the note with, 
evident emotions of sorrow, commenced 
pacing the room, first handing the letter to 
Edward, who read as follows : 


i 


A TALE OP THE SOUTH. 


35 


“ Sycamores, April 20th, 1780. 

“ My dear Maj. Walden : — In order to 
give you the highest possible evidence in 
my power, of the great desire I have to 
see you, I have requested my wife and 
daughter to ride over and invite you to ac- 
company them home. The times have 
changed — I am changed ; and ere I leave 
this world, lam anxious to make my peace 
with you, and to make every reparation in 
my power, though my life should be spar- 
ed but a moment afterwards. Words can- 
not express what my feeble hand could not 
trace. I wish you to be a father to my 
child, a friend to my wife. Come; — be 
sure to come. 

“ Your friend for the remainder of his life, 
“ M. Grayson.” 

“ Strange, strange indeed,” said the Ma- 
jor. “ How long did they remain. Gabble- 
ton, — what did they sayl What did you 
tell them 1” 

“ I told them that I would hand you the 
letter when you got back from the great 
Charleston ball. 

“ Curse the ball, I never wish to hear of 
it again.” 

“ I beg pardon, Major, I did not know 
that it was so unpleasant to you, and I am 
sorry I mentioned to the ladies where you 
were gone ; for 1 could have easily manag- 
ed so as not to have leaked out that part of 
your journey.” 

“ Go on, Gabbleton, it is too late to mend 
the matter ; only I wish I had never heard 
of the cursed fandango. I do’ntblame you; 
it is my own folly, (poor compromised fool) 
but go on.” 

“Well sir, they staid but a little while, 
just long enough to rest ten or fifteen 
minutes and to look at the pictures; the 
young lady. Miss Grayson, I suppose, I 
thought eyed pretty closely that yonder 
one. Master Edward’s, and said it was a 
fine looking face, and asked me whose it 
was. She sighed in earnest after looking 
at it awhile. But,” exclaimedGabbleton, 
“ yonder comes that old codger of a tinker; 
and if you, gentlemen, need my assistance 
in this way,” at the same time giving his 
whip a twirl, “ you will find me in the 
garden as I have business there for a few 
hours.” 

A singularly accoutered horseman an- 
nounced his arrival, by riding close up to 
the yard gate in a slow and careless pace.^ 
“ Halloa ! has the honorable owner of 
these hereditaments returned from the 
great carousal in the modern Babylon 1” 

“He has, and uninfected with its abomi- 
nations. Light, sir, and walk in ; you talk 


like a man who felt indignant at the pro- 
ceedings of our oppressors.” 

“ Major Walden, I am proud to see you. 

I shall dismount most cordially, and have 
no doubt that I have an embassy which 
will disenthrall our government of its curs- 
ed paper rags; and also purge the country 
of all speculators and marauders upon our 
citizens. It is a magnificent plan, sir, and 
worthy of your patronage and fostering 
care; and if you take after your great and 
glorious father, the prince of patrons, I 
know that you will feel bound to enter 
heartily into the plans which I have drawn 
up for your special attention. But I forgot 
to mention that my name is Geoffrey Jar- 
vis, Mineralogist. 

“ I am glad to see you, Mr. Jarvis ; it has 
been a long time since I saw you.” 

“ Yes, and many a day have I spent, 
thinking of your glorious father and pious 
mother, and about you and your misfor- 
tunes, and the evil times you were raised 
in and perhaps will die in ! Have my 
horse fed ; for horse and man are hungry ; 
neither has tasted food for twenty-four 
hours, except a little browsing on cane; or 
a quart of sour butter milk which I swal- 
lowed at that conceited numb-skull’s who 
has such a litter of children, with high 
classic names.” 

During most of the time this conversa- 
tion was going on, Major Walden had been 
eyeing this strange man’s features and 
dress. He was a pursy, stout man, a little 
stooped in the shoulders and evidently the 
rise of fifty years old, with a wild restless 
small gray eye, aquiline nose, and bald head, 
and had on a pair of buckskin breeches, 
tasselled and fringed with a great deal of 
care about the seams and flaps. He had a 
shot-bag, similarly ornamented with a 
sheath in the shoulder strap, which held a 
large butcher knife. He carried a gun 
swung to his back, in true military style. 
He wore a long breasted coat, with huge 
pockets. 

“ Can we get any thing to eat, sirl” said 
Jarvis, rising from his seat hastily. 

“I beg your pardon, to be sure, Mr. Jar- 
vis ; as soon as possible, you and your beast 
shall have plenty of the best I have. I 
was so engaged listening to you, and look- 
ing to see if I could see any traces of your 
former features, that I did not notice that 
you mentioned your misfortunes. 

“ Well may you say misfortunes; both- 
ered and bewildered by the directions of • 
fools, who point and nod until the fools 
themselves could not follow their own di- 
rections. I had the whole family of the 


36 


ONSLOW, 


Bucklebelts, dogs and all, giving me direc- 
tions hither, until I got mad enough to have 
given them the end of my gun, and rode off 
determined not to follow a single direction; 
and it was well I did not, for I never should 
have got here during my life time !” 

The worthy visiter, without waiting for 
dinner, drew forth from his huge saddle- 
bags several small tin cylinders, and after 
opening one, exclaimed, “ Here, sir, is a 
scheme of a smelting apparatus, and draw- 
ings which I have conceived necessary for 
the better understanding of the concomi- 
tant buildings and fortifications: It is after 
the fashion of the temple of king Solomon 
the wise, which I have modernized and 
suited to the establishment of the mint, 
which, under your patronage, and my di- 
rection and skill, I propose to locate some- 
where in the auriferous regions, for the be- 
nefit and behoof of this State, and those 
who aid me in the glorious undertaking. 
Imprimis, forty soldiers free from the taint 
of masonry and strong drink. Secondari- 
ly, myself and patron shall share and share 
about with the State ; all expenses having 
been paid by the same, viz : half to the 
State, the remainder to the aforesaid Geoff- 
rey Jarvis, Mineralogist ; and his coadjutor 
— your noble self. What sounds do I hear 
in your garden! Yes, even of the lash; 
no wonder that I have been bothered in the 
sloughs and mires, pulling down fences 
and cornering around fields. Yes ! you are 
adding slave to slave, house to house, and 
nothing laid up for the soul ; the heavenly 
manna is not administered; tears and groans, 
stripes and blows, are as familiar as house- 
hold gods ; I tell you, sir, you will all go 
to hell together.” 

“ You judge too harshly, my good friend; 
are you not aware that the best kind of lib- 
erty for the slave, is a security against all 
harm, and a certainty of food and raiment, 
without the cares of the mind! In sickness 
or health, the hand of his master is ready 
to supply and protect him.” 

“ What, sir, food and raiment for the 
carcase! and pray, what becomes of the 
immortal part ! who feeds the soul ! when 
I was called of the Holy Ghost, I divided 
the word in season and out of season, even 
to the dividing of the joints and marrow.” 

“ I have endeavored to supply them 
amply, in that important matter, the gos- 
pel ; I have built a church, and assist in 
procuring a pious divine to preach to them ; 
I think, sir, your complaints come wiht an 
ill grace, since you are now so thoroughly 
head and ears taken up with plans and 
schemes to amass millions ; that you have 


desisted from the high calling you once 
followed.” 

“ Ah ! sir, you taunt me as a back-sli- 
der! Who made thee a judge of my 
heart ! lam still a teacher in Israel ; but 
I will not cast pearl before swine ; let the 
canting hypocrites, who preach long ser- 
mons, and write them down before hand, 
and dole them out for pay, usurp the places 
of the true servants of the Lord ; sudden 
destruction will overtake you all ; preach- 
ers and hearers will all be damned together 
in the lake of unquenchable fire ; for mo- 
ney is the root of all evil.” 

“ What becomes, then, of the mineralo- 
gist !” 

“He is a public benefactor,” exclaimed 
the old man, warmly, “and brings forth 
from chaos means to supply the gospel to 
the uttermost ends of the world.” 

“ Well, Mr. Jarvis,” said the Major, “ to 
cut the matter short, your notions and mine 
are entirely different, and to prevent any 
wider difference hereafter, I must, most re- 
spectfully, decline any participation in your 
mineralogical establishment. I have no 
family to provide for, and no great desire 
to embark in an untried, and to my mind, 
visionary scheme.” 

“You have not!” asked the mineralo- 
gist — dropping his tin cylinder and his va- 
rious drawings on the floor, and raising 
himself to his utmost height, he repeated 
the question, “ you have not !” 

“No I I have not,” exclaimed the Ma- 
jor, looking the mineralogist in the eye, 
and standing boldly in front of him. 

The wild gray eyes of the mineralogist 
danced with anger, as he, with a bitter un- 
earthly smile and sibilant words, proceeded 
— “ Wottest thou any thing of a clandes- 
tine marriage, or rather abandonment of a 
poor maiden sister, whose demented words 
have been whispered to the bleak winds 
of the forest, and whose early death, cry 
day and night for avengement!” 

“You speak in parables,” said the Major, 
falteringly ; “ who made you the avenger 
of my sister’s wrongs!” 

“ Aha 1” laughed the mineralogist, ex- 
ultingly, “ I have made your seared con- 
science fry like the branding-iron when 
touched to the forehead of the guilty cul- 
prit. Yes, I will speak in parables — there 
was a frail child of sorrov\^” 

“ And what of that!” demanded Major 
Walden, recovering his color and voice. 

“ And what of that! and what of the liv- 
ing sister and her children ! I had intended 
to do you a great service — to have 
imparted an important secret, that would 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


37 


have been as blooms and fruit upon a 
withered bough. It would have been im- 
parted under the plan of my mineralogical 
drawings; but you have insulted me, both 
as a divine and mineralogist. It shall cost 
you troubles of the heart and body — yea, 
of the purse likewise.” 

Major Walden seized a chair, and would 
have knocked the aggressor out of the door, 
but Edward, who had been a spectator, sud- 
denly interposed, and begged his uncle to re- 
member that the man was old, and perhaps 
not altogether in his right mind. In the 
meanwhile, the mineralogist had drawn his 
butcher-knife and walked to the door, 
calmly eyeing Gabbleton who came up at 
the time. 

“ If you please, gentlemen,” exclaimed 
Gabbleton, “allow me to give the counter- 
feiter a genteel dressing — just a little to 
set his compass right — just say the word. 
Major, and I’ll larup him to a fraction — 
just let me have Cuff and Dave called and 
lay off his linen a few minutes.” 

“ Order his horse, Gabbleton,” said the 
Major, “and let the lying impostor hunt 
up his Tory associates : I defy him and the 
v;hole fraternity.” 

“ Aye,” said the mineralogist, “ beat a 
retreat, you dastardly rascals; here’s as 
true steel as ever flung a spark to blow up 
a poltroon’s carcass: I shake off the dust 
of my feet upon house and household,” 
added he, as he mounted his ill-starred 
beast to depart, suiting the action to the 
word. 

Edward had taken too deep an interest 
in the conversation, and in the vague hints 
and threats of their late visitor, to become 
infected with the same feelings of anger 
and surprise with his uncle. As to Gab- 
bleton, it was his vocation, and would have 
been the highest evidence of his regard for 
Major Walden, which was sincere beyond 
measure. 

“ I wish, uncle, you had heard him out ; 
this is the second hint we have had — the 
first was at the Blue House. There may 
be some mysterious affair connected with 
our family, or some dark plot laid by our 
enemies, which it behooves us to fathom 
and guard against.” 

“ You may be taken in by the fooleries 
of this hypocritical knave, and, if you 
choose, may rack your brain to unravel his 
riddles. I shall pay no attention to him, 
except to see that he and his conspirators 
shall keep out of my way.” 

Thus ended the matter, but there was 
the urgent request of Col. Grayson unat- 
tended to — Major Walden complained that 

4 


he felt rather unwell, but would pay the 
visit on the next morning. Edward, how- 
ever, ventured to urge his uncle not to de- 
lay until the next day. 

“ Will you go with me, Edward 1” ask- 
ed the Major. Edward replied that he 
would accompany him nearly thither and 
then return. The truth was, he did^not 
feel exactly prepared for an interview with 
Miss Grayson. The feuds which had kept 
the families apart, and which were entirely 
political, had found their way into his ar- 
dent temperament. “ I shall wait and see 
how you and Colonel Grayson settle the 
affair,” said he, “ and then, perhaps, I will 
accompany you ; but not before all matters 
are amicably arranged.” 

“ That is the very way, sir,” said his 
uncle, “ and you know that the heiress is 
yours by donation.” 

“ Ah !” replied Edward, coloring deeply, 
“that was when we were children and 
when we were both Whigs.” 

“ But you are not so ungallant, Edward, 
as to insinuate that the lady is not now a 
Whig, and what is said in jest is often 
meant in earnest.” 

As they rode on towards the mansion of 
Col. Grayson, Edward, still deeply absorb- 
ed with the conduct and insinuations of the 
mineralogist, ventured to hint to his uncle, 
that there was something mysterious in 
their late visitor. 

“Dismiss his vagaries, sir; are you so 
simple as not to perceive that it is a shal- 
low conspiracy to exact money from me, 
or to alarm me by some pretended evil ? 
Dismiss his dark insinuations — you do me 
injustice by referring to them.” 

Edward took leave of his uncle, ponder- 
ing on his words and those of the mineralo- 
gist, and concluded that he must be wrong 
in his fears and conjectures. He sought 
Gabbleton, and inquired more particularly 
into the visit of the ladies. 

“ The hair of the youngest was as black 
as the crow’s back, and her eye was as 
sharp as the crack of a rifle, and she stept 
as nimble as a wild deer. T tell you, Ed- 
ward Conway, I thought your picture al- 
most blushed whilst she was looking at it. 

‘ I think, mother,’ she said, in a voice as soft 
as a fiddle, ‘ I have seen some one in Phila- 
delphia who favored this picture.’ ” 

“ Yes, she is engaged to some fellow in 
the north,” said Edward. 

“ Oh, no, it was only to have an excuse 
to look at your picture. I swear she kept 
her eyes on it the whole time she remained. 
But I have missed a great deal of fun — if 
your uncle had allowed me to bring that 


38 


ONSLOW, 


ragamuffin back, I would have given him 
one of my nicest and closest examinations; 
he would have given up all his notions of 
preaching and counterfeiting, and fell to 
studying the science of flogging, for the 
purpose of inventing some kind of oil to 
harden the skin. Say, Cuffy, did the old 
tinker curse you 1” 

“ He did, massa — he called me poor 
famished dog like he self and horse,” re- 
plied Cliffy, with a broad grin, “ and by 
your leave, Massa Oberseer, I could hab 
help you to gib him he medisin, exactly, 
sar.” 

Edward sought the hall to look at his 
own portrait, and to dream over the image 
of Miss Grayson, contrasting her looks of 
childhood with the someiyhat rude sketch 
of Gabbleton, who continued to feast over, 
in imagination, what he had not put into 
execution, vowing, that such another op- 
portunity, for showing his skill and benefit- 
ing an impostor, should never be allowed 
to escape, even if it should offend his best 
friends. 


CHAPTER IX. 

Full of repentance, 

Continued meditations, tears and sorrows. 

He gave his honors to the world again. 

His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace. 

King Henry Vlll. 

The residence of Colonel Grayson was 
called the Sycamores, because of the large 
number of those beautiful trees which 
grew around it. It is supposed that they 
sprung up on land once cleared by the 
savages. At certain seasons of the year, 
'when they have cast the outer bark, their 
white trunks and wide-spread boughs re- 
semble columns of marble, as if planted 
by the hand of enchantment. The present 
proprietor, when he moved to the place, 
found a small orchard and a log cabin, 
which had been the residence of one of 
those half-savage pioneers, who lived by 
his gun, and on such of his stock as escaped 
the ravages of the beasts of the forest ; 
whilst his wife, or his sons and daughters, 
made a scanty crop of corn and potatoes. 

Col. Grayson was a North Carolinian by 
birth; and he and his wife were induced 
to move with the family of Mr. Milligan, 
whose numerous children and a scanty 
property induced him to come to South 
Carolina, with the expectation of making 
a fortune, and to have opportunities of 
procuring large and fertile settlements of 
land. Like many visionary schemes of 


profit, they were destined not to be fulfilled; 
for the war breaking out soon afterwards, 
had rendered the profits from agriculture 
precarious and small. 

The wife of Col. Grayson was an orphan, 
and left under the guardianship of Mr. 
Milligan, for whom she always retained an 
affectionate regard, and looked upon him 
and his worthy lady in the light of parents. 
Her fortune, which was a tolerable one, 
joined to that of her husband, rendered 
them quite wealthy for the times, and the 
portion of the country in which they resided. 
For wealth, at best, is but a relative term, 
being often measured by the circle in 
which the possessor may happen to live or 
move. 

The proprietor of the Sycamores had 
spared no pains to make his residence com- 
fortable ; and Major Walden, as he ap- 
proached the house, drew an unfavorable 
contrast between his own neglected resi- 
dence and that of Col. Grayson. He did 
not fail to account for his own want of 
these advantages, by the reflection that he 
had no wife and children to induce him to 
seek their comfort and pleasure, in render- 
ing his residence attractive by a small 
share of attention and care. 

A staked and ridered fence on either 
side, of some length, with sycamores in 
alternate panels, formed a beautiful ave- 
nue to the house, which led to its front. 
The mansion had four rooms below and a 
portico on either side ; four strong stone 
chimneys, and dormar windows to break 
the heaviness of the long, deep roof, and 
to admit additional light into the rooms 
above stairs, giving an appearance of great 
strength to the house. All the outbuild- 
ings were neat, and generally closely 
notched down at the corners, and con- 
structed with pine logs, hewn with care 
and arranged with taste. Vines and orna- 
mental shrubbery were placed near the en- 
trance, and the soft tints of the setting 
sun, and the opening ffowers, gave an 
enchanting aspect to the place. 

Major Walden could not divest himself 
altogether "of some unpleasant embarrass- 
ment as he walked boldly up to the door. 
The truth was, that, twenty-four hours 
back, he would liave suffered his right 
arm to be torn from its socket before he 
would have gone to the house, but the note 
had made it an act of imperative duty on 
his part. 

Mrs. Grayson was a well educated lady, 
about thirty-five years of age, and retiiined 
her freshness and healthful appearance ra- 
ther better than most ladies of her aofe. 

O 


% 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


39 


She was a fine model of the moderate or 
middle sized style of beauty, lather over 
the common height, and commanding in 
her appearance. She might have said 
with Shakspeare’s C^ueen Catherine — 

“ Bring me a constant woman to her husband ; 
One that ne’er dreamed a joy beyond his plea- 
sure. 

And to that woman, when she has done most, 
Yet will I add an honor.” 

She met Major Walden at the door, and 
offering her hand, welcomed him cordially, 
inquiring after his health, and that of his 
nephew. 

“I am truly glad to see you. Major 
Walden; for notwithstanding the cheerful 
words of my husband, and the assurances 
of Dr. String Halt, that he will be up in a 
few days, and the hopes of Mr. Milligan, 
yet I am afraid that they are all deceived.” 

“ Oh ! I am so glad you have come,” 
said St. Ille, taking the hand of Major 
Walden; “my father has expressed so 
much anxiety to see you — but all say he 
will be up in a few days.” 

“ I should not have known you, St. Ille; 
you have so changed since I saw you last ; 
I believe it has been four or five years, and 
that makes a great difference sometimes, 
especially in young ladies of your age.” 

“ Did you have a gay affair at Charles- 
ton V’ asked Mrs. Grayson. 

“ I believe the judges of such matters 
tliought it something uncommon, though I 
confess T had about as much business there 
as I would have at a coronation or a con- 
fession.” 

A servant announced that the room 
where Colonel Grayson lay, was ready for 
the reception of Major Walden, and he 
was invited to go in by Mrs. Grayson. 

The sick man, raising himself half way 
up on his elbow, extended his emaciated 
and trembling hand to his visitor. It was 
too evident that he was making a great 
bodily effbrt. 

“ I am glad to see you, my dear Major,” 
said he, with a faltering and weak voice. 

“How are you, this eveningl” asked 
the Major. 

“I hardly know; the doctor, who left 
here this morning, says that I am mend- 
ing ; and all my friends think I will be up 
in a few days. But,” continued Colonel 
Grayson, after he had nodded to his wife 
to leave the room, and had given orders 
concerning the horse of his visitor to the 
servant — “they are all mistaken; I am 
emphatically a dying man; there is not the 
most distant hope of my recovery — none 


whatever. The vitals are worn out, the 
machine is shattered — the pain and diffi- 
culty of breathing, the hacking and wear- 
ing cough, all plainly indicate to me that 
I am not long for this world.” 

Major Walden kindly attempted to ex- 
postulate against such despondency, saying 
that diseases of the kind, and particularly 
of the chest, were apt to produce tedious 
and painful sensations which affected the 
spirits, and produced a train of melancholy 
forebodings. 

“ I thank you, my dear friend, for your 
sympathy, and your well meant encourage- 
ment — but, sir, I am prepared for the worst, 
and as time is precious with me, I will 
without delay frankly state to you that I 
have solicited this visit for the twofold 
purpose of acknowledging that I have act- 
ed with too much bitterness toward you 
and your Whig friends, particularly in im- 
puting to you the harsh treatment I re- 
ceived from some of the Whig leaders. 
But, sir, above all, I wish to leave my wife 
and daughter under your protection — be a 
friend and father to my child, and a coun- 
sellor to my wife. In these dark and por- 
tentous times of misrule and rapine, they 
will be in danger from a thousand quar- 
ters.” 

The effbrt was too much, and the unfor- 
tunate man fell back on his pillow, with a 
hectic flush on his pallid cheeks, now be- 
dewed with tears, unable to withstand his 
dark forebodings. 

Major Walden paced the room, wiping 
his eyes, and vainly attempting to drive off' 
the poignant feelings that harrowed up his 
stubborn breast. There lay the man whose 
station and character had raised between 
them that kind of rivalry which produced 
constant ill will toward each other, without 
ripening sufficiently into a rupture that 
might have admitted of an honorable ex- 
planation or redress — there lay his equal, 
humbled, not by his enemy, but by the 
hand of Him who has the issues of life and 
death at his will — there, too, lay the once 
active and robust frame, a wreck, fast 
going to its mother earth. “Mortality! 
the bitter doom of all — of myself, tool” 
thought the Major, and he sliuddered at 
the appalling whisperings of his con- 
science. 

It was some time before he made any 
reply. At length, he said — 

“ I am entirely innocent, I assure you, 
of any advice which led to your imprison- 
ment. General Marion knows full well, 
and so does Major Notwood and others, 
that I was mainly instrumental in procur- 


40 


ONSLOW, 


ing the exchange of Bucklebelt for you ; 
and when you were afterwards taken, and 
would have been executed in retaliation for 
the excesses of the British in destroying 
young McCoy and others, I expostulated 
with the officer in command, and finally 
contrived to have you sent to the camp of 
Marion, where you were a second time 
exchanged for one of our officers. I was 
actuated by the reports I had heard of your 
generosity to our poor Whig friends, and 
of your having on all occasions attempted 
to prevent the excesses of the loyalists, 
and expostulated against the employment 
of the savages against us.” 

“I did — I did!” earnestly exclaimed 
Grayson, “ but I heard a very different 
account from Notv/ood, in regard to your 
advice in my case ; I understood that you 
attempted to inflame your friends against 
me, and advised that T should be kept con- 
stantly in prison, until I should enlist into 
the continental service. I never, until 
lately, learnt the reverse. Dr. String 
Halt heard it from some of the officers, 
that I was indebted to you for my re- 
lease.” 

“ Sir,” replied Major Walden, “ Not- 
wood must be a man of desperate morals ; 
but let him pass for the present. It is 
well known to my intimate friends in the 
army, that I persisted in demanding your 
exchange. My w’ish was to keep you in 
the field, to guard against the horrible ex- 
cesses of the Tories and unprincipled 
amongst the regular army; and I should 
have always acted toward you as a politi- 
cal opponent who was honorable and high- 
minded, until I heard of your personal hos- 
tility toward me. But, sir, I am pleased 
to say that I now know that you have been 
imposed on from the worst of motives, and 
I hope you may recover that I may prove 
how completely I am reconciled.” 

The scene became moye distressing to 
Major Walden ; the dying man took him 
by the hand, unable to utter a word ; the 
cold and clammy sweat trickled down his 
forehead, and his ashen lips quivered, un- 
able to pronounce what he wished to say ; 
the Major handed him a glass of wine, but 
he shook his head, and after a desperate ef- 
fort, whispered — 

“ Thank God ! all is now settled — call 
in my wife and daughter.” 

When they came into the room, he said, 
with a faint smile — “ I am reconciled to 
my old friend, and he has rny dying request 
to befriend you both. I have appointed 
him my joint executor and guardian of my 


daughter, with you, my dear wife ; Mr. 
Milligan has the necessary documents in 
his possession.” 

For the first time, the appalling truth of 
his situation flashed in the eyes of his 
wife and daughter. The frantic child 
fell in a swoon upon his neck, whilst his 
feeble arm hung like a signal of distress 
over the dark tresses which fell in despair 
over his wan and death-like face. The 
wifd was mute, and moved about in a wild 
and irregular manner, staring at her hus- 
band, or adjusting the bed clothes, or tak- 
ing up the medicine and replacing it in- 
stantly. Major Walden stood fixed to the 
bed-side, with his stubborn features drawn 
to the utmost pitch of mental agony. 

A wild shriek of the wife told too plain- 
ly that all was over, as she lifted away the 
helpless form of her daughter. The Major 
sprung and caught them both in his arms 
as they v/ere falling to the floor. 

Some of the trusty servants who came 
in, were despatched by Major Walden to 
call in the neighbors, and to request that 
Mr. Milligan might be sent for. They 
prevailed upon the mother and daughter 
to take a cordial, which they unconsciously 
swallowed. 

Major Walden was much displeased 
with the course which Dr. String Halt 
had pursued toward the family, and so ex- 
pressed himself that night after his ar- 
rival. But he justified himself by saying 
that a physician’s reputation might suffer 
if his prophecies turned out falsely, and 
that it was more the province of the physi- 
cian to inspirit than to discourage his pa- 
tient, and wound up by giving some direc- 
tions to be pursued toward the ladies, who 
had, to use his own language, “ their ner- 
vous systems suddenly surprised.” He 
took leave of the family early the next 
morning. 

At two o’clock the next day, after the 
demise of Col. Grayson, Mr. Milligan per- 
formed the funeral obsequies. The con- 
gregation consisted of the neighbors who 
had been requested to attend, and the ser- 
vants belonging to the plantation. The 
discourse was more in the form of a lec- 
ture or eulogy than a sermon. It was 
short, and adapted to the occasion and the 
congregation. 

Mrs. Grayson, with a sad and determined 
resolution, went to the grave, leaning on 
the arm of a faithful old servant, whose 
snowy head and hard features showed that 
she was familiar with the ravages of 
time. 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


41 


“I nursed him! I raised him! I loved 
him,” sobbed the old woman, “ better than 
father or mother. My best friend — my 
child is gone.” 

She stood until the last clod was thrown 
on the coffin, the tears rolling down her 
furrowed cheeks, as if her very eyes were 
dissolving. After the service was over, 
she called to her fellow servants, “ Come, 
my dear friends, one and all, come close 
around this house appointed for all living ; 
let us all pray to our Heavenly Father.” 

And she continued to pray and to de- 
plore the loss to the family and to the 
community ; imploring mercy on the whole 
human race, and asked that the mighty ca- 
lamity might be turned to the benefit of 
the hearers, and that the last day might 
find them all prepared to join him in 
heaven. 

There was not a dry eye amongst the 
slaves, or the whites who remained to see 
the last evidence of the true affection of 
the disconsolate old servant. 

Considerable apprehension was felt for 
the situation of St. Hie, who was unable to 
leave her bed for several hours. Some of 
the neighboring females remained with the 
family until Mr. Milligan sent for his two 
daughters. Fortunately, however, in a day 
or two she recovered sufficiently to be re- 
moved to his house. 

Mrs. Grayson determined to remain at 
home, saying, “ I hope Providence will 
lend me sufficient fortitude to stand the 
awful calamity. I love to remain in the 
room ; I love to look at the chairs he sat 
in, the places where he used to walk. If 
my kind neighbors will attend to my ser- 
vants and domestic affairs, I can give my 
mind up to meditation and my heart to 
prayer for strength. But St. Hie must go 
to Mr. Milligan; her young heart is not 
proof against such a sudden shock ; her as- 
sociations are not here, and I am not in a 
fit mood to condole with her, and she will 
concentrate her whole feelings on the last 
hours of her father.” 

Such were the brief arrangements of the 
family. 

The quiet and serenity around the man- 
sion of the Sycamores, were like the calm- 
ness of the sea, after the last duties have 
been performed in consigning some noble 
tar to his watery grave; not a ripple tells 
I wheie the deep chasm was made ! 

The reader will recollect that Julian was 
left in Charleston. What befell him after 
the celebrated conciliation ball, will be re- 
corded in the next chapter. 


^ CHAPTER X. 

oil my shame, 

I sue and sue in vain ; it is most just ; 

AVheu women sue, they sue to be denied. 

Young’s Revenge. 

The maid that loves 
Goes out to sea upon a shattered plank. 

And puts her trust in miracles for safety. 

Young. 

Julian Onslow, although apparently a 
great favorite with the leaders of the domi- 
nant party, could not escape from his own 
bewildered thoughts; he could not forget 
that he was a prisoner on parole. To one 
jealous of his country’s honor, burning for 
succes.s, ready to lay down his life in its 
cause, the situation was embarrassing to 
the highest degree. He had sufficient evi- 
dence that those who directed the multi- 
tude did not intend to respect the obliga- 
tions which they had imposed on them- 
selves. Of their designs to drive all the 
inhabitants into subjection to the king, and 
to compel them to bear arms in his cause, 
or to swear allegiance, he was almost cer- 
tain, from what he had overheard in the 
garden between Notwood and Sir Henry 
Clinton. At one time he imagined that 
towards himself they could have no such 
intentions, especially as he had been taken 
prisoner in a different State, and over 
which they could claim no right of recent 
conquest. At another moment he was 
tempted to break off from the city and at- 
tempt to rouse the Whigs to resist a plan 
so iniquitous, and contrary to the express 
conditions which had been been promulged 
by the commanders of the British forces. 
But then he would recollect his parole, his 
word of honor, the kindness, too, which some 
of his enemies had shown him. He was a 
stranger in a province to all appearance 
completely subjugated. Compassed, too, by 
sea and land by its enemies, it was madness 
to make such an effort. 

It was in this state of perturbation and 
indecision that the two friends of Julian 
found him. 

“ I am truly glad to see you, gentlemen,” 
said Julian, seizing Notwood and Gant with 
either hand ; “ you perhaps can determine 
for me the course I should pursue 1” 

“ The course you should pursue !” ex- 
claimed Notwood, looking archly at Julian 
and then at Gant; “ why, my dear fellow, 
draw the fish to shore or let go the tack- 
ling, and try the net on land; you under- 
stand me ; you have your choice, the loya- 
list or the rebel. Mrs. Armond or Miss 


42 


ONSLOW, 


Grayson. You blush. Truth, thou art an 
excellent painter !” 

“ But why do you call Miss Grayson a 
rebel V’ asked Julian. 

“ Oh because she w’as not at the ball, 
and because I believe,” said Notwood sig- 
nificantly, “ she prefers you to her king.” 

“ You have more information, then, than 
~I have,” replied Julian. 

“ ’Tis useless to dissemble ; for I have 
good cause, if I may believe report, to sup- 
pose that she takes a great interest in your 
welfare. Sir ! you have yet to play a high 
game. Witness your gallantry last night, 
the observed of all observers ; your rebuke 
of old Walden, whose neck has already 
given way for better men’s to the halter. 
Sir, push your fortune, ‘ There is a tide,’ 
&c. Enter the field at once ! fame and 
fortune both are in your hands ; I for one 
will further your views.” 

“ And so will I,” exclaimed Gant ; “ if 
one so little versed in such intricacies as I 
am can be of any service.” 

Julian thanked his two friends for the 
solicitude they felt in his case. 

“ But,” said he, “ gentlemen, I must 
frankly state to you, that I cannot see my 
way as plainly as you seem to do. But 
you can essentially assist me in one thing, 
which to me seems the path of duty and of 
interest.” 

They both declared their readiness to 
render all the assistance in their power. 

“ Yes,” said Notwood, “ if it is to steal 
the beautiful Sylph which fluttered on your 
wing last night. By heavens, Onslow, me- 
thinks you must have discoursed perilous 
words to her ear by the silver beams of 
Luna.” 

“ Enough, sir,” said Julian, “ in jest 
even.” 

’ Notwood, with a countenance and man- 
ner of the greatest kindness, declared that 
it was but a jest with a friend about a 
friend, “ for I assure you, my dear sir, my 
acquaintance so far has been cordial and in- 
timate with Mrs. Armond, and if I dared to 
use a hackneyed phrase, I would say she is 
like Caesar’s wife, above suspicion.” 

Julian changed the conversation, stating 
that he had some desire to be excliangecf, 
or to be allowed to return to Philadelphia 
with Sir Henry Clinton.” 

“How extravagant you are, my dear 
friend,” exclaimed Notwood with great 
surprise; “young, gallant, cast in the 
mould of nobility, why waste your life in 
a fruitless chimera, a hazardous dream, 
which, if realized, is but to taste of unal- 
loyed misery. Let me entreat you to turn 


I at once to a theatre equal to your character. 

I I swear here is a hand for you ; one that 
keeps pace with my honest promises. You 
are anxious to accompany Sir Henry ; of 
course you are actuated by the noblest im- 
pulses of patriotism ; but let me entreat 
you not to make any final arrangement 
until I see you again — farewell for the 
present.” / 

Gant and Julian went in quest of Sir 
Henry, who was understood to have deter- 
mined on leaving the command in the 
South to Lord Cornwallis, whilst he en- 
tered the more hotly contested quarters of 
the North.” 

“ I judge. Sir Henry, you are going out 
on business,” said Gant, as they met him, 
dressed apparently for the purpose of pay- 
ing some morning calls ; “ perhaps Onslow 
and myself can see you at a more conve- 
nient hour.” 

“ I am glad to see you, gentlemen,” ex- 
claimed Sir Henry ; “ accompany me to the 
ladies; I wish to see how they stand the 
sunshine after such a night of splendid dis- 
sipation. Few, very few, can look upon 
the next day’s sun with unborrowed blush- 
es, after such a night’s display ! I believe,” 
continued he, bowing, “you are both la- 
dies’ men: I should like to have two such 
aids-de-camp. Come, go with me ; I shall 
perhaps be in danger of yielding the laurels 
to each of you.” 

“ By no means,” said Julian ; “ for you 
certainly were the star of the ascendant 
amongst the ladies last night.” 

“ And what star or stars were you and 
the sweet Julia looking at last night 1 I am 
glad that you have reminded me of that 
thrilling scene. To be serious, sir, let me 
entreat you to give over your notions of 
equality, and all that kind of republican 
cant; it has failed since the crowning of 
King Saul dov;n to the present hour ; join 
my staff as the avowed suitor of Mrs. Ar- 
mond ; time and perseverance will accom- 
plish much — 

“ She is a woman, therefore to be woed, 

She is a woman, therefore to be won.” 

’think you not so, Captain Gant?” 

Gant a.ssented with a nod ; whilst Julian 
looked exceedingly bewildered, and at last 
replied, 

“I thank you. Sir Henry; and all of 
those who have shown me so much kind- 
ness; and if your present proposition be 
made serious, however well meant, I must 
give it a prompt refusal, and if in jest, why 
then let it so pass. But I will take this 
occasion respectfully to ask of you to allow 
of my exchange as a prisoner; or to permit 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


43 


me still under a parole to accompany you i 
round to Philadelphia or the North, until I 
can be exchanged. I have no means of 
requiting the undeserved kindness which I 
have already received at the hands of your- 
self and friends ; none, sir, whatever, but 
the fervency of a generous heart, which 
will ever pray that Heaven may requite 
you tenfold.” 

“ We must thank you for the kind wishes 
which you express, and hope that they may 
be fulfilled to the letter ; but you have it 
now in your power to requite your friends, 
not by ejaculations of generous wishes, but 
by practical means. Identify yourself with 
them ; I know how to distinguish between 
your ardent temperament, your associa- 
tions, and momentary impulses, acquired 
amidst the thrilling scenes of the last few 
years, and the cold calculating selfishness 
of those who so loudly cry out about op- 
pression and equality. They seek their 
own aggrandizement or the gratification of 
.sordid passions. They will yet meet with 
certain and condign punishment.” 

The last part of the sentence was said 
with a bitterness which caused Julian to 
shudder, and to recollect the dark plot of 
the last night. 

“ It is due to your proffered kindness 
toward me,” said Julian, after a momentary 
pause, “ to inform your lordship that there 
is no consideration which shall induce me 
to take arms against my country. The 
perils consequent upon such a declaration, 
cannot be worse than the conscious degra- 
dation which an acquiescence in your offer 
would bring with it. You must pardon me 
for such an avowal in reply to a proposition 
coming from so distinguished a source ; but 
such is my conclusion.” 

“ Be not too hasty, my young friend ; 
you may have cause to repent it. Let me 
assure you that I am sorry to hear such 
notions from you. Come, gentlemen,” said 
Sir Henry, taking each by an arm, “ let us 
walk. But Onslow,” continued Sir Henry, 
“I hope that when you see Mrs. Armond 
you will take another view of the sub- 
ject, unless Miss Grayson has divided your 
heart, for I believe that both are in love 
with you ; what say you. Captain Gantl” 

“ I have no personal knowledge or data 
upon which to found an opinion, but from 
circumstantial evidence, I should think 
that there were iust g-rounds for such a 
belief.” 

“ And in your own case. Captain, what 
ground shall we have] facts, naked facts, 
or circumstantial evidence such as sighs 
and looks'?” asked Julian. 


“ Between Miss Dashwood and Miss 
Conway stands Captain Gant irresolute 
and faltering, and,” continued Sir Henry, 
bowing to Julian, “between Mrs. Armond 
and Miss Grayson hangs the destiny of 
Julian Onslow; a joust or a tournament, 
were it leap year, would not be altogether ■ 
uninteresting between the ladies ! Why, 
gentlemen, I would like to be umpire ; no, 

I believe I would contend for the prize ; 
don’t become jealous, however, my young 
friends ; here are two of them, one for 
each. I see they are at home, at least not 
‘ sick’ from the last night’s fatigue,” whis- 
pered Sir Henry as they approached the 
house. 

The gentlemen were cordially greeted 
by the ladies. Mrs. Armond had just risen 
from the piano, and in order to hide her 
confusion as she met the eyes of Julian, 
she turned to Sir Henry Clinton with an 
assumed air of good natured raillery. 

“ Is it possible,” said she, “ that you 
have ventured out! are you not fearful 
that the morning air may injure your 
health'? Be careful, my good friends, lest 
his majesty may have cause to regret the 
indisposition of one of his transatlantic 
commanders.” 

“ Why, you stand the scenes of the last 
few hours admirably, Mrs. Armond !” re- 
plied Sir Henry. 

Miss Dashwood and Capt. Gant cast a 
glance at each other, whilst Mrs. Arbuckle 
looked unutterable tlVings, revenge and 
pride marking her beautiful features. 

“ My sister,” said she, “ enjoys all scenes 
of the kind unless the room becomes too 
crowded — she was somewhat indisposed 
last evening, but has entirely recovered. I 
hope your lordship has received no injury 
from your extraordinary exertions in af- 
Ibrding pleasure and diffusing life to the 
whole party.” 

“ How, Sir Henry,” asked Miss Dash- 
wood, “ can you show so much respect to 
the rebels'? I am out of all patience with 
them — and to think that Miss Caldwell 
refused to dance with any gentleman un- 
less he was a Whig : she must have had a 
deal of impudence ; — don’t you think so. 
Sir Henry V’ 

“ Unquestionably she had,” replied Mrs. 
Arbuckle. “ It shows how she has been 
raised. These rebels have rather too much 
consequence about them. But, I believe, 
Julia, that rich old bachelor, Walden, en- 
deavored to dance with you — it was a won- 
der that he offered his hand to any one ex- 
cept Miss Caldwell. Ah! excuse me,” 
continued Mrs. Arbuckle, “I beg your 


44 


ONSLOW, 


pardon, Julian, I did not intend to injure 
your feelings, in speaking thus of the ge- 
nerality of the Republicans; but Miss 
Caldwell, I believe, with some four or five, 
went away after the first dance — I under- 
stood they said they could not consent to 
dance with the oppressors of their country. 
Astonishing impudence !” 

“ Yes, one of them proposed that, as 
there were so few of the leading Whigs 
present, I should leave the ball-room,” 
also, answered Miss Dashwoood, “but I 
was not disposed to gratify her insolent 
vanity,” 

Sir Henry, after a few minutes, seated 
himself near Mrs. Arbuckle, and the con- 
versation partook somewhat of a tete-d- 
tete, occasionally rising into a loud, dis- 
jointed sentence, not altogether unintel- 
ligible to some of the company. 

“ Oh, leave that to me,” said Mrs. Ar- 
buckle, playing with the splendid chain 
which held the miniature of Major Ar- 
buckle. 

“ Are you certain of success 1” asked 
Sir Henry, as he gracefully leaned forward, 
reaching his hand as if to look at the mi- 
niature. 

“ How fresh and life-looking ! I swear 
it is a noble face, madam ; look at the fire 
of the eye, the curl of the lip, the grandeur 
of the whole man is reflected ; and I hope 
that you will soon have the pleasure, my 
dear madam, of seeing the original,” add- 
ing in a pensive and soft tone, “ Providence 
will guard one so noble and in so good a 
cause ! Heaven will not long permit your 
separation.” 

“ No, Sir Henry,” resumed Mrs. Ar- 
buckle, after a few seconds, “I never yet 
failed in an attempt where I exerted my 
whole powers — and it is impossible that I 
could fail in this instance, backed by your 
powerful assistance.” 

“ Well, then, my dear madam,” said Sir 
Henry, in a low tone of voice, “ the whole 
plan is this — I wish to promote the interest 
of your sister; and at the same time, if 
possible, circumvent the rebellious leaders, 
and if I can get a spy on them, one whose 
interest is deeply connected with us, one 
who has talents and enterprise, then so 
much the surer work ; — notone with neces- 
sities and wounded pride, like one who is 
already negotiating with us ; in plain words, 
can young Onslow obtain the hand of Mrs. 
Armond 1” 

“Why,” asked the fair listener, in a 
whisper, “ has he made such a request of 
your good offices'? I think he, perhaps, 
with both of our efforts, might succeed, but 


it is extremely doubtful ; he is rather dis- 
tant ; perhaps it is timidity or bashfulness.” 

Sir Henry briefly stated that he had 
thought there was some attachment be- 
tween the two young persons ; and he was 
disposed to forget and forgive the youthful 
Republican in consideration of the grateful 
feelings he had shown toward his friends. 

“ Yes, he acted nobly toward me and my 
husband ; I owe him a debt of gratitude, if 
it is not already repaid by your kindness, 
which I am certain was very great toward 
him,” answered Mrs. Arbuckle. “ But 
she will never consent, and I am certain 
I shall not, unless it meets with your de- 
cided approbation. I understand,” con- 
tinued the lady, in. an inquiring tone, 
“ that he will receive an office ; and that 
he is, of course, to act by your directions '?” 
Sir Henry nodded an assent. “ Then, 
sir,” said Mrs. Arbuckle, rising and taking 
the offered hand of Sir Henry who had 
arisen to depart, “ leave the whole affair to 
me ; it cannot fail.” 

“ Mind, Sir Henry,” exclaimed Miss 
Dashwood, as he was leaving the room, 
“ that you do not desert overdo the enemy ; 
there are great temptations in the Whig 
quarters — beware of the high-minded Miss 
Caldwell.” 

“Never fear me,” replied Sir Henry, 
“ there is no danger as long as I have such 
fair allies as yourself.” 

“ Quite a compliment,” said Capt. Gant 
to Miss Dashwood. 

“ And altogether appropriate,” said Ju- 
lian, bowing to Miss Dashwood. 

“ As you are gentlemen of truth,” said 
Miss Dashwood, “ I must certainly believe 
what you both have affirmed. But it is 
passing strange that I did not happen to 
think of refusing to dance with the officers 
of the King — it would have given me such 
eclat ! I could almost forgive the lady 
that first thought of it. It would have 
been contumacious and high-spirited — I am 
ve^'ed with myself for not having started 
the idea; just think how it would have 
sounded over the water, and at tlie North — 
really I am so provoked with myself.” 

. “ I think,” said Mrs. Armond, gently 
touching a random note on the piano, 
“ that they were half-way right. I admire 
their heroic independence. If I were one 
of the Whig ladies, I should have looked 
with feelings of little respect upon those 
who had imprisoned my rel.itions and 
countrymen, or sent them away into exile.” 

“Fie! fie I Julia,” said Mrs. Arbuckle, 
“you aie very wrong; such language would 
not become a rebel, much less yourself, es- 


A TALE OP THE SOUTH. 


45 


pecially as you are such a favorite with Sir 
Henry.” 

Julian was desirous of giving the con- 
versation a different turn, although he ad- 
mired the noble sentiments of the fair Ju- 
lia, and tlioiight she never looked half so 
lovely ; yet he could not but contrast his 
own feelings with those of the persons 
present — he politely asked her to favor the 
company with a song. 

“ What shall it bel” asked Julia as she 
gracefully seated herself to comply with 
the request. 

“I must leave the selection to yourself, 
Mrs. Armond,” said Julian. She looked at 
him for a moment, and blushing deeply, 
sung in a voice which thrilled every heart, 
the following lines : — 

■Ah ! why is hope so like the bow 
That gilds the troubled skies? 

It comes as did the ancient vow, 

Amidst our tears and sighs. 

Sweet hope can never die ! 

Sweet hope, bright hope, can never die ! 

’ Tis brightest when the heart is sad, 

When it o’erclouded seems, 

It whispers to the soul, “ be glad,” 

And tells its magic dreams. 

Sweet hope can never die ! 

Sweet hope, bright hope, can never die ! 

Ah 1 hope is dearest when the mind. 
Bewildered, looks in vain 

Some resting place from care to find — 

Some solace for its pain. 

. Sweet hope can never die ! 

Sweet hope, bright hope, can never die ! 

Mrs. Arbuckle, anxious to carry into ef- 
fect the arrangement between herself and 
Sir Henry, scarcely waited for her sister to 
finish tlie last stanza, ere she asked Julian 
if he would not accompany them back to 
Philadelphia — “ For,” added she, “ I know 
you would be delighted with the voyage, 
unless you become sea-sick, or fall in with 
the French fleet; and I know you are 
more gallant than to wish the latter, al- 
though they are 3mur allies.” 

Julian declared that he hoped that his 
friends might meet with no serious misfor- 
tune, “but,” added he, “ I must wish suc- 
cess to our cause.” 

“ Of course, Julian,” said Mrs. Arbuckle, 
“ but I have a few more words on the sub- 
ject of our voyage — I will speak to you 
aside.” 

Julian followed Mrs. Arbuckle into the 
next room — “ I wish,” said she, seating 
hersplf near him, “that you would deal 
candidly with me — no youthful squeamish- 
ness, although it may be natural, and in 


some cases justifiable, perhaps ; yet in this 
case the crisis has arrived, and, as a gen- 
tleman, I conjure you fearlessly to meet it. 
You certainly understand to what I allude; 
it is the subject which you have mentioned 
to Sir Henry.” 

“ I certainly am at a loss,” replied Ju- 
lian, “ to comprehend the question to which 
you allude, unless it be that of accompany- 
ing you and Sir Henry to the North.” 

“ Very well, Julian, and to assist you out 
of your embarrassment, the proposals you 
have made for the hand of my sister — ” 

“ To whom, madam V’ asked Julian, with 
astonishment. 

“ A pretty question, indeed ! why, does 
not every person know that you are in love 
with her — and are you the only one who is 
so blind as not to have seen it yet ? Come, 
Julian, discard this assumed ignorance — it 
does not become the man or the occasion — 
you have two powerful friends in the affair, 
myself and Sir Henry.” 

“ I had hoped,” said Julian, evidently 
mortified and embarrassed, “ that what I 
stated to you last evening would have been 
satisfactory ; and I fear you are doing your 
sister great injustice by again referring to 
the subject ; for I am sure she does not re- 
gard me in the light of a suitor.” 

“ I suppose,” answered Mrs. Arbuckle, 
with a look of ineffable surprise and cha- 
grin, “ I may be allowed to have my own 
notions of propriety or impropriety; — I 
sought not tliis interview to be lectured on 
right and wrong; but, sir, in order that 
you may fully comprehend all the bearings 
of the question, I am permitted, by compe- 
tent authority, to say, that if you can ob- 
tain the hand of Mrs. Armond, (which you 
must acknowledge is every way worthy 
of you, or of any other gentleman,) you 
will be taken into the staff of the Com-' 
mander-in-chief, or employed to bring back 
your rebellious countrymen to their loyal- 
ty ; an enterprise worthy of the best ta- 
lents, and one which you should feel proud 
to be engaged in. As regards my own 
feelings, I can say that I shall not urge 
Julia to act contrary to her wishes, for she 
is worthy of the hand of the King’s son — 
though, if you permit me, I shall name the 
subject as delicately as possible to her ; and 
present such suggestions as I may deem 
applicable to a matter of such great im- 
portance to each of you. I need not add 
that the best endeavors of the Commander- 
in-chief will be added to those of mine in 
fulfilling your wishes.” 

Julian sprung from his seat. “ Why, ma- 
dam, I am filled with unfeigned astonish- 


46 


ONSLOW. 


ment at the unparalleled effrontry of the 
proposals, if they came from Sir Henry 
Clinton. No, Mrs. Arbuckle, I am neither 
to be bought nor driven by considerations 
of the kind ; the king has no bribe which 
can reach me. I will never be a traitor to 
my country; and I know that your sister 
would never consent to become the wife of 
a spy upon his countrymen; her sentiments 
this morning, her character, all ! all ! are 
at variance with such a supposition.” 

“You know me too well,” said Mrs. 
Arbuckle, “ to believe for a moment that I 
would attempt to wound your sensibility, 
Mr. Onslow; and least of all would Sir 
Henry make a disagreeable proposition to 
you. It is likely then if you disapprove of 
the suggestions which I have made, that I 
could prevail upon Sir Henry to allow you 
still to retain your parole. It is true I do 
not look upon the matter as you and Julia 
do ; and I must earnestly beseech you to 
consult your own interest and honor as to 
what part you will act.” 

The kind manner, the artless sincerity, 
at once assuaged any resentment which 
Julian felt toward Mrs. Arbuckle ; but it 
was not so toward Sir Henry; the great 
disparity between their situations, was not 
calculated to enable his philosophy to cast 
a charitable apology into the scale of the 
commander- in- chief. If Julian felt the want 
of office and equality, in the light in which 
they were received by those who held him 
as a half prisoner and friend, it was not the 
mere lust of title. But it was that he 
might command that justice toward his 
personal rights, which he could obtain in 
no way except through the hazardous and 
dubious one of a personal rencontre with 
an officer of high rank; and he was too 
well acquainted with military usage, (even 
if so disposed,) to resort to the illegal, 
though too often practiced, method of re- 
dress — a challenge ! 

In the mean while Mrs. Arbuckle, per- 
ceiving the abstraction of Julian, as he 
stood musing over his unpleasant situation, 
thought it a favorable moment to bring the 
two lovers, as she supposed, face to face ; 
for it never entered her head that Julian 
could, after the intimation wdiich Sir Henry 
had given of his wishes, refuse to comply, 
let his modesty and prejudice be what they 
might. She beckoned to her sister, who 
came pale and alarmed, for she imagined 
that there was something pertaining to 
herself then under consideration. 

Julian asked the agitated fair one to be 
seated ; assuming a smile of cheerfulness, 
which with his previous excitement added 


a beauty and glow that set off his manly 
countenance. 

“ My dear sister, it is useless,” said' Mrs. 
Arbuckle in the most artless and sincere 
manner, “ longer to delay an answer to 
Mr. Onslow; his interest and safety re- 
quire that you should come to a speedy 
conclusion. It is more than twelve months 
since you were bereft of my dear brother. 

I can see no good reason, as it is the wish 
of your best friends that you should have a 
protector, why you should refuse to ac- 
cept the addresses of one who might after 
a longer period be considered as a proper 
suitor. With this view of the subject, I, 
in the name of Mr. Onslow, demand an 
explicit answer.” 

Julia hid her face in her handkerchief 
and burst into tears; whilst Julian, much 
agitated, in a deprecatory manner said, 

“ My dear Mrs. Arbuckle, you have done 
your sister great injustice, and — ” 

“ And yourself, I suppose you were going 
to say ; now let me,” continued the rebuked 
lady, who by no means thought with Ju- 
lian, “ manage this matter in my own way. 

I know more of the peculiarities of each of 
your situations than any one else. You 
certainly do not deny, Julian, that you 
greatly admire and respect Mrs. Ormond 1” 

“ Most certainly, madam ; but I am un- 
able to see the relevancy of such questions, 
or the right — ” 

“ Do allow me to proceed without inter- 
ruption for a few words, sir ; and then you 
will not only perceive the relevaticy of 
every word and question, but will thank 
me heartily for the course I am pursuing. 
Come, Julia, sweet ! don’t give way to 
despondency ; tell me, your dearest sister, 
if you do not esteem Mr. Onslow as highly 
as any gentleman, and if his addresses are 
not likely to be acceptable, seeing that 
they have met with the approbation of Sir 
Henry and myself?” 

“ What, silent, Julia? then you know 
that silence in such cases always is con- 
strued affirmatively. Now I presume,” 
continued Mrs. Arbuckle, looking at Julian 
with an air of good natured triumph, “ you 
can see the relevancy of my questions ; 
you have stated that you greatly admire 
and respect Mrs. Armond ; and she (if she 
has not positively said so in so many words) 
has left us to infer that she has a mutual 
esteem for you.” 

“ My dearest Mrs. Armond,” said Julian, 
“ I assure you I have had no agency, di- 
rectly or indirectly, in this very delicate 
matter.” 

“ Who ever heard the like before ?” said 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


47 


Mrs. Arbiickle ; “ the consequences be on 
your own head, Mr. Onslow ; and you, Mrs. 
Ariuond, may manage your own affairs 
hereafter in your own way ; and let me 
tell you, Mr. Julian Onslow, that you have 
forfeited place and preferment ; and I shall 
never consent to be placed amongst the 
friends of one who has treated with such 
indignity the hand of my sister,” In this 
mood Mrs. Arbuckle rushed into her room, 
to give vent to her wounded and disap- 
pointed feelings. 

Julia caught Julian by the hand; she 
seemed so agitated that he immediately 
seated her. 

“ I am unable to speak the anguish of 
my heart ; let me assure you that I have 
not had the slightest intimation of my sis- 
ter’s intentions, nor have I ever had the 
slightest cause from you to suppose that 
you looked on me in any other light than 
as an affectionate friend ; and I assure you, 
my dear Julian, that I have respected you 
for your noble conduct to myself and hus- 
band. I saw you as the gallant soldier, far 
above ! yes, far above ! many of your titled 
opponents. I felt, from my first sight of 
you, that you were noble and generous. I 
felt even more, that you and St. Ille Gray- 
son were made for each other; notwith- 
standing you have denied any engagement. 

• There are few who can appreciate my 
character; I have looked on you as a 
friend, a very dear one. It is death to part 
with you. But, dear Julian, let me entreat 
you never to forget that I love and respect 
you more than words can express! We 
shall part, never perhaps to see each other 
again in this world; but my prayers shall 
ever be for your happiness and prosperity.” 

Julian wiped his gushing tears, and af- 
fectionately pressing the hand in his, kissed 
it, adding, 

“ Heaven will watch over you, dear lady, 
and I solemnly swear never to forget the 
generous angel who has been so kind to 
me.” 

Julian rushed out of the door, unable to 
withstand the scene, without taking farther 
leave, whilst Julia sought her room to 
weep, and pour out the inexplicable feel- 
ings which spring from the hidden depths 
of the heart; such, alas! as leave it a 
tinge never to be effaced, and to enter 
ever afterwards into all its pulsations ! 

Major Notwood, who had met with Sir 
Plenry, and who had been informed of the 
refusal which Julian had made to his pro- 
posals, went in quest of him, hoping that 
he might meet with him or find him at the 
house where the ladies were boarding. 


He was determined to sound Julian, and if 
possible prevent him from succeeding with 
Mrs. Armond. He cculd not brook the 
idea that any rebel should be promoted, 
and he had other designs to accomplish. 
He met Julian at a turn of the street soon 
after his parting scene with Mrs. Armond. 

“ I am truly glad to see you,” exclaimed 
Notwood ; “ you look agitated. I know 
that you have had infamous proposals made 
to you. It is a burning shame to attempt 
to take advantage of a noble nature ; and 
were not the commander-in-chief so dear a 
friend, and so anxious to oblige you, I 
would expose him. The means are un- 
worthy of him, to attempt to reach you 
through the most tender process. The 
prize would be sullied and wholly unwor- 
thy of you, incompatible with honor and 
independence. And henceforward if I 
thought you capable of obtaining a lady’s 
hand under such self abasement, I should 
discard you from my friendship. Give up 
your northern trip until matters are more 
quiet; retain your parole until you can 
meet with an honorable exchange. Seve- 
ral of us are going up into the interior, go 
with us. It will render you better ac- 
quainted with the country, and give time 
for reflection and dispassionate action.” 

Julian eagerly caught at the arrange- 
ment. He wished almost to fly from him- 
self. He never suffered himself to doubt 
the friendship of Notwood. The mind, 
when once excited and suddenly thrown 
off its balance, is prone to listen to novel 
suggestions; and Julian was now the sub- 
ject upon which the consummate abilities 
of Notwood could play with a fair prospect 
of complete success. 


CHAPTER XI. 

Look who comes, sirrah — 

And next prepare the song and do it lively ; 

Your tricks too, sirrah, they are ways to catch the 

buyer 

I ’ll be with you presently— 

That slave will cost you 
An easy price. 

Massinger. 

One or two messages were sent to Julian 
from Mrs. Arbuckle by Captain Gant, to 
call and see them before they sailed ; but 
he was not disposed to undergo the same 
tortures again. The mind which has once 
been highly excited on a painful topic, is 
prone to" avoid all liability to a recurrence 
to a similar one. His resolution was fixed, 
and he saw no good that could arise from 


48 


ONSLOW, 


another brief interview ; and as regarded 
Mrs. Armond, he was almost afraid to trust 
himself in her presence, lest he might 
faulter in his recent determination not to 
accompany Sir Henry to the North. 

Having obtained the necessary passports, 
Notwood and Gant prepared to visit the 
interior, in company with Mrs. Notwood, 
Miss Conway and Miss Dash wood. 

Notwood had, either from a desire to 
keep proper spies on the conduct of Julian, 
or to avoid the supervision to which he 
would be subjected in his intercourse with 
the people, or the leaders of the different 
small parties on the route, proposed to Ju- 
lian that he and two of his subalterns 
should precede them a day or so in their 
journey; alledging that it would prevent 
any inconvenience from too large a com- 
pany, and that it would notify certain 
friends that they were coming. He re- 
gretted exceedingly that he would be de- 
prived of the company of Julian; “but,” 
said he, “this arrangement will place you 
beyond the mutable whims of certain wo- 
men, and the cool designs of Sir Henry.” 

The two subalterns were directed to act 
with great respect towards Julian, but at 
the same time to keep a close eye upon 
his conduct, and faithfully to report his con- 
versation ; and if there was any apprehen- 
sion of a surprise from any of the lawless 
bands, to return back immediately for fur- 
ther orders. 

The three travelers took necessary pro- 
visions for such a journey ; and the two 
subalterns were well supplied with choice 
liquors, and a reasonable number of pistols 
and dirks. 

Thus accoutered, they took the road to- 
wards Camden. Few situations are more 
embarrassing, than to travel in a couritry 
where lawless pillage and rapine prevail ; 
where the laws only protect the strong and 
cloak their wicked designs; when no one 
knows that justice or truth will avail aught, 
or who will prove true or false. Julian, 
on any other occasion, or at any other time, 
might have felt more for his personal safe- 
ty. Young and buoyant as he was, yet 
his mind seemed to be oppressed with an 
unwonted weight. Was it parting wdth 
the beautiful Mrs. Julia Armond 1 or look- 
ed he with apprehension on the future 1 
He evidently was in no fit mood for con- 
versation, and in the very outset of the 
journey gave way to his feelings so far as 
to repel all efforts on the part of his com- 
panions to draw him into conversation. 

After a few execrations on the part of 
the subalterns, on the pride and haughti- 


ness of Julian, they soon fell into the same 
mood. A more gloomy or taciturn compa- 
ny seldom travelled in fair day light. 

Julian looked upon his companions as 
hired vassals, or needy adventurers, who 
sought a bare subsistence in the army ; and 
who would, at the bidding of their superi- 
ors, be as ready to do a bad as good act ; 
there could be but little fellow feeling 
amongst them. 

At last, in the evening of the second day, 
the one which seemed the more important 
of the two, and who was blessed with a 
wide mouth and white hair, a short com- 
pact fellow, kicked up his weary beast, and 
riding close to Julian, commenced a con- 
versation somewhat in the following strain : 

“ I declare, friend, that we are the dumb- 
est and most shut-mouth set I ever saw, my 
very ears itch to hear somebody’s voice ; 
I wish you would not be so proud to be 
humming every song you ever heard, and 
not say a word to your best friends.” 

“Yes,” replied the other, “I am sure 
we are your friends, even if we have been 
told to keep a sharp eye on you, and I don’t 
know the necessity of such orders; seeing 
you have never spoke a word for any one 
to report back, during these two days; ex- 
cept it is “ Yes,” or “ No,” or “ is this the 
roadi” 

“ I most heartily ask your pardon,” re- 
plied Julian, “ if I have appeared careless 
or even haughty ; for I assure you there is 
no one who has less cause to be proud ; or, 
who stands more in need of friends, and if 
I have been remiss in any of my actions or 
words, I am ready to make all necessary 
amends in my power.” 

“ T told you. Lieutenant Bowman,” said 
the other subaltern, whom the lieutenant 
called Buzz, or Buzzy, as his fancy sug- 
gested, “ I told you that you was mistaken; 
that we had a fine young man to go with 
us up amongst the country crackers.” 

“ Yes, you did Buzzy, and you know I 
told you that it was grief, and not pride, 
which consumed the young gentleman’s 
words, at leaving of some sweetheart or 
another.” 

“ Yes, you did. Lieutenant Bowman, I 
felt very much that way myself, when I 
left Philadelphia.” 

“Were you bred in Philadelphia 1” ask- 
ed Julian. 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ And how came you here?” 

“By the way of a slant sir,” said the 
sergeant. “ I was partly badly treated, and 
partly had a roaming disposition, and was 
partly coaxed by an officer ; and I thought 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH, 


49 


too, that T would rather be on the strong 
side ; bat if I had half a chance, I would 
like to visit the old place again ; though 
I ’m promoted, and it would be death from 
either party, one because I Vv'ent, and the 
other because I had come back. I ’ve been 
in both armies, and if — ” 

“ And if what, sargent 1” asked the 
wide mouthed lieutenant. 

“ Nothing for you to report,” said Biizzy, 
rather musing on what he had not said. 

“ But it must out. If I was in the first ar- 
my again, I would .stay there, but as I am 
where I am I cannot help myself.” 

The lieutenant began to look a little 
dubious. 

“ Of course, mister, you would assist me, 
if myself and Sargent Buzz, were to get 
into a difficulty.” 

“ That would depend, Mr. Bowman, upon 
tlie cause which might bring you into the 
difficulty, and the chances to be brought 
out of it.” 

“ Well, sir, would you take sides against 
myself and Mr. Sargent Bussy ; who is a 
good soldier although he talked .so strange- 
ly just now 1” 

“ Come, lieutenant, no such insinuations; 

I said nothing except my past thoughts, not 
a v/ord about what I intended to do ; no 
more of it, lieutenant.” 

“Well, I know what you meant, sar- 
gent ; I only asked the question, and men- 
tioned that, to see how it affected this gen- 
tleman, and I was going to say, that you 
was as good a soldier as any other man.” 

“You will soon see,” said Julian, “ what 
side I take, and who are good soldiers,” half 
seriously and half in jest, for just at that 
instant, three well armed men, v/ith seve- 
ral horses and about twenty negroes, stood 
before them in the road. Each company 
halted, our three travelers all abreast. 

“ Friends or foes ?” demanded a fierce, 
large- whiskered, stout man, presenting his 
musket. 

“ Friends,” exclaimed Lieutenant Bow- 
man ; rather falling a little back of his com- 
panions. 

“ Stand,” said Julian, “and hand me a 
pistol.” 

“I judge you are friends by your coats, 
but that does not always signify, you must 
give up your arms, if you are friendly,” 
said the leader of the opposite party. 

“ No,” replied Julian,” the weakest party 
cannot give up their arras, until further 
convinced of your pacific intentions. If 
any surrender their arms it should be your- 
selves, but there is no cause why either 
should. You seem not to be a party on 


warlike matters, and I can assure you that 
we are going on business mostly of a pri- 
vate nature. 

“ Yes ! yes !” exclaimed the lieutenant, 
“on matters of deep concern of Maj. Not- 
wood’s.” 

A horseman dashed up from a blind 
path, on the left of the other party. It was 
the mineralogist. He was strangely attir- 
ed ; he had on a dragoon’s cap of the British 
uniform, and a coat of the same order, over 
the rest of his clothes. 

“ Why stand ye here, all the day idlel” 
he exclaimed, in a loud voice, “ one set 
with your faces to the east, and the other 
to the west. It matters not, your shadows 
all are one way, and so tend your lives. Is 
the road so narrow that you cannot pass to 
the right nor to the left 1 And you, young 
man,” addressing himself to Julian, “un- 
armed in these times of peril and rapine 1 
Hope you to escape 1 Recollect that it was 
cause enough in the eyes of the wolf to put 
the lamb to death, because it was weak.” 

“ And, pray, sir, who made you comman- 
der in chiefl” asked Sergeant Buzzy. 

“In times of commotion and danger, 
there are pilots sent to the helm ; I am now 
ready to command you, and lead you out of 
danger, for, let me tell you, that ere cock- 
crow, to-morrow, you will have no need of 
commanders, no — but rather of a priest ; 
not one of the ancient Babylonish clan ; 
but one of the true servants of the Lord ; 
let us cease our wrangling,” said the mine- 
ralogist, “ and prepare for flight, for I have 
seen many men dismounted and lying at 
rest, waiting for night fall, in order to com- 
mence their depredations.” 

The party having the negroes, inquired 
to what party they belonged 1 

“ Of course to the rebels, to the regula- 
tors.” 

The leader smiled, and said that he did 
not fear any harm, if they belonged to the 
regulators, “ for many of them are but at- 
tending to the King’s business, and I am 
one.” 

“ Your blood be on your own head then,” 
said the mineralogist. “ I have told you 
that there was a lion in your path, if you 
heed me not, then I am clear of the hazards 
and mishaps which may befall you.” 

“ Let us all camp together,” said the 
leader of the negro party, “ we have plen- 
ty of provisions, good cooks, and all neces- 
sary means for preparing supper, although 
we have fallen in upon the plagues of 
Egypt.” 

“ Yes,” replied Lieutenant Bowman, “I 
nevpr heard an army of savages raise their 


50 


ONSLOW, 


yells, but the frogs, or the Dutch nightin- 
gales, from these surrounding ponds, cer- 
tainly keep up the most incessant clamor 
I ever heard.” 

“There will be a different yell, louder 
and more appalling, ere the mists of the 
morning ride on the wings of the wind,” 
replied the mineralogist. 

“Come ! Come, be seated, and let us eat 
and be merry,” said the leader, “for the 
d — d rebels dare not raise their heads, and 
as to a British soldier, or a friend to the 
King, every thing will be exactly right. — 
If they come up we ’ll bait them, and give 
them apple brandy ; and let them have the 
grand Egyptian chorus, to which King 
Pharaoh and his subjects danced, in days 
of yore. 

“ I tell thee, once again,” said the mi- 
neralogist, “ that the Lord has sent a Cap' 
tain to thee, to deliver thee out of the 
hands of thine enemies ; it will be wmll, if 
thou dost not meet with the fate of Pha- 
raoh and his followers ; for thou art hold- 
ing, like him, thy fellow-beings in bondage 
and servitude.” 

The regulator replied fiercely, “It is 
none of thy business, old man, whether I 
am the slave, or the slaveholder; I prefer to 
be the latter ; I have fought for the privi- 
lege of being master, and I have now gain- 
ed my reward. If such be your seditious 
harangues, yonder, sir, is the road, broad 
and plain, and if you wish to preach or ex- 
hort, find some other hearers besides us, 
for neither as Captain or Chaplain can we 
take you.” 

“No! no!” shouted all, except Julian. 

“ Young man, “said the mineralogist, I 
like your features and your behavior, go 
with me ; leave your companions ; my heart 
yearns over thee; thou art young, and may 
become learned and useful. 

“Geoffrey Jarvis'!” asked Julian with 
emotion. 

“ Remain with us,” continued he ; “I 
have much to say — to ask — to consult, if 
thou art in truth the mineralogist.” 

“ You can have no consultations here,” 
said the large-whiskered leader, “ and the 
sooner you abscond the better, or I will 
have you paddling mud in the frog ponds.” 

“ Yes, you impertinent old spy,” shouted 
the lieutenant, “Jiow dare you to disgrace 
his majesty’s uniform '1 Yes, sir, how dare 
you to interfere with my private orders 1 
mineralogist or tinker, scape-gallows or 
what not, seek your clan and be their lead- 
er ; storm our camp, and show yourself a 
great captain ; ofi', sir, quickly ! instanta- 
neously !” 


Julian felt anxious to interpose, but he 
saw that his own life, and that of the min- 
eralogist might be in jeopardy. He knew 
not the cause of the strp,nge dress of this 
eccentric man ; he longed to speak to him 
in private, but he dared not. He beheld his 
violent gestures by the torch light just 
kindled, as it threw back his own and his 
horse’s shadow, and heard his fierce mut- 
terings as he slowly disappeared. 

The night was passed until a late hour in 
deep carousals by the companions of Julian 
and their new friends. A part of the ne- 
groes were compelled to sing or dance, 
whilst some kept time with their feet and 
hands, clapping, stamping, and whooping 
like a band of drunken savages. The re- 
fractory negroes were bound with strong 
ropes to prevent their escape. The con- 
versation had been confidental between 
Lieutenant Bowman and his new friends; 
“ Notwoodand Clannagan,” “confiscation,” 
“Whig,” &c., were words which Julian 
could occasionally hear — but exhausted he 
fell asleep. 


CHAPTER XII. 

First, hang and draw, 

Then hear the cause by Lydford Law. 

Old Saying. 

The mineralogist proceeded at a slow 
rate, full of anger and vowing revenge 
upon the gang of rogues, as he called 
them. 

“ I will take ample satisfaction — I went 
as a peace-maker, and they sent me away 
a sower of discord. Yes, they shall find 
that the sword of Gideon shall be on them 
— I will charge them even unto the hilt of 
this trusty blade,” (he pulled forth his 
long weapon,) “ deep into the craven hearts 
of the land pirates will I drive this, unless 
they repent of their sins, and bow down in 
humility, asking pardon of me and of the 
Lord. I will deliver the young man who 
has been betrayed into their hands. He 
called on me for protection and advice, and 
they refused it — my mind is changed — I 
will deliver him.” 

In this gust of passion and reasoning, 
occasionally raising his voice, or urging on 
his beast, he came to the top of a hill, 
when dismounting and resting on his 
horse’s neck, he commenced hallooing — 
“ Halloo r Lieutenant Coldfire — come to 
the rescue of a young Israelite in whom 
there is no guile ; come to the rescue of 
the children of Ham, who have been taken 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


51 


from their rightful owners, and are to be 
sent and sold into strange places, scattered 
to and fro, like birds before the bow of the 
archer ; come, gird up thy loins, Marcus 
Coldfire, and smite them hip and thigh,” 

In a few minutes four or five men stood 
near the mineralogist. 

“ What want you 1 — why such a bub- 
bub 

“ Why such a hub-bub 1 ask you, Mark 
Coldfire ; thou man of the scriptural in- 
junction, ‘yea’ and ‘nay.’ I want your 
strong arm against thescotfers and revilers 
— the same thou wert in pursuit of when 
I left thee this evening. I have found them 
and left them reviling and revelling near 
the Frog Ponds ; my mind is changed, and 
they are guilty of sufficient crimes to con- 
demn them ; and mark me, Marcus Cold- 
fire — there is one, a youthful Joseph, who 
must not be condemned with his wicked 
brethren ; spare him for my sake, for the 
sake of learning ! aye, and for reasons 
which I cannot and will not reveal even 
unto thee!” 

INIark Coldfire was one of the sons of 
' South Carolina, who, from the first to the 
last of the war, never thought of any thing 
else but fighting. He was sure, if any 
were in the field, to be one of the compa- 
ny. He was a bachelor who had been the 
solace of a poor widow, who had given him 
a good common education and good advice ; 
but the seed fell on stony ground. Mark 
was wild as well as his frontier neighbors ; 
he was remarkable for his stubborn tacitur- 
nity and prompt action; he was at the 
time of this interview with the mineralo- 
gist about thirty years of age, a short, robust 
: frame, active and healthful ; his dark eyes 
\ and large black whiskers and eye-brows 
singularly contrasted with his uncommonly 
gray head ; he was as prompt as a Mo- 
hawk to take revenge, and as kind as the 
: good Samaritan to his friends; “cold to 
his enemies, warm to his friends, one-half 
i his name to the one, the balance to the 
( other,” said those who knew him — slow to 
\ anger and slow to pacify, “he suits his 
I name.” He was familiarly known as Lieu- 
I tenant Monosyllable. 

I “ Wilt thou, Marcus Coldfire, spare the 
young man for my sakel” asked the min- 
: eralogist, in a low voice, of the stout sol- 
dier just described; 

“ Yes.” 

“Wilt thou, Marcus Coldfire, take am- 
ple vengeance on the kidnappers and their 
colludinir associates'?” 

“ Yes!” 

“ Wilt thou suffer me, then, Marcus, to 


go and be the vanguard of the true sons of 
valor "I” 

“ No.” 

“ ‘ Yea and nay,’ thou art too laconic, too 
much of a listener, unless thou art in the 
company of thy juniors ; well, do as thou 
likest, I will go as a private under thy 
command.” 

Mark Coldfire expostulated against such 
a course, telling the mineralogist that this 
was more of a private matter of revenge, 
“ an old debt he had to pay the thieves for 
their many acts of villany, and one too 
against his mother. They sent her to her 
grave pennyless,” said Mark, wiping his 
eyes, “ and I have sworn to repay the 
debt.” Saying this he ordered his five 
men to get ready, and he absolutely re- 
fused to let the mineralogist go with him, 
saying, 

“ This is a private affair, and you shall 
not risk your life in such a one; your 
dress shows that you are of the King’s par- 
ty ; and if I had taken you in battle would 
have kept you as a prisoner. I admire 
your present course, and hope that you will 
consider well before you fight against us. 
I hope you have not yet taken sides.” 

“I did not until old Walden insulted 
me.” 

“ Beware how you persecute him — he 
has many friends,” said one of the com- 
pany. 

“And who art thou that warnest me of 
danger from Walden"? I fear neither the 
King nor the Congress ; who are they but 
the servants of the people ? Go thy ways, 
man, and trouble not thyself on my ac- 
count; Walden shall yet repent of his 
treatment towards me. It is well thou hast 
warned me of the numerous friends of 
Walden, for it behooves me to prepare for 
danger. Spare the youth, dear Marcus; 
my^ime has not yet come to fulfill my 
plans with him, and let me whisper in thy 
ear — he is a rebel.” 

“ What plans'?” asked Coldfire. 

“ None that thou art interested in yet, 
Lieut. Coldfire — none that thy genius suits 
— none that thy means could justify; but 
if thy industry and valor continue, per- 
chance the second or third part of com- 
mand may be given thee. ‘ Gideon and 
the Lord’ be thy battle cry.” 

The mineralogist left the small party, 
giving no clue to his route or his plans, 
singing an indistinct song, or occasionally 
muttering a few words until he sunk back 
beneath the trees and darkness of the hill. 

Coldfire immediately prepared his com- 
pany for an attack on the encampment at 


52 


ONSLOW, 


the Frog Ponds. They went in single i 
file, and took the precaution to tie their ! 
horses’ mouths around with cords lest 
they should neigh. Thus arranged, they 
proceeded within a few hundred yards 
of the described place, and dismounting 
they divided themselves into two wings ; 
Coldfire taking the most irresolute and 
weak of his company with himself, whilst 
the other three were directed to approach 
in an opposite direction, and to go upon 
them without noise ; he commanded each 
man to have his weapons ready, and when 
they got within ten paces, to demand a 
surrender. “ Spare the young man — and 
all besides, if they yield — if not, kill the 
kidnappers, and the two travelers if they 
join against us.” 

Owing to the furious carousal and deep 
drinking, there was scarcely a single per- 
son of the whole company sober or awake. 
The deep snoring occasionally was heard 
over the chorus of the happy frogs. Every 
circumstance presaged an easy conquest. 
The two wings had approached in opposite 
directions, and actually stood near enough 
to make signs to each other. “ Seize their 
arms,” whispered Coldfire. In a moment 
they had taken every gun or weapon they 
could see. 

“ Let me run this bayonet through the 
ringleader’s jugular,” said one of his men, 
“for I know that this is Jim Joice.” 

“No,” said Coldfire, pulling out a rope 
from his pocket, “ let us tie him and try 
him by a court martial.” The others fol- 
lowed his example, and in an instant the 
three Tories had a noose around their necks, 
whilst two of Cold fire’s company stood with 
their guns ready to shoot the first who re- 
sisted. 

“ You pull rather hard,” said Joice, 
scrambling up ; “ you are rather too rough. 
Lieutenant Bowman ; quit your damn fun, 
and let me sleep.” 

Julian sprung to his feet and seized a 
pistol — “ We are friends, young man,” said 
one of the company. “ We mean you no 
harm ; but if you interfere in our private 
quarrels, you will be instantly killed.” Ju- 
lian’s other companion suddenly sprung up 
also. “ Stand, or you are a dead man,” said 
each of Coldfire’s men. 

“ Shoot!” shouted Sergeant Buzzy, “ we 
are taken prisoners and will be hung.” 

Lieutenant Bowman raised up on his el- 
bows, and rubbing his eyes, fell back again, 
too drunk to take part in the aftray. 

“ If you mean no harm, why this mid- 
night attack '! — why these ropes 1 — this me- 
nacing attitude and threats f’ asked Julian. 


“ We are after thieves and robbers,” 
replied Coldfire. 

The three kidnappers, though nearly 
drunk, began to flounder and scuffle, whilst 
some of the negroes also began to show 
alarm. Coldfire told them, in a few words, 
who he was, and his business. 

“ I come to release you, and convey you 
back to your lawful masters.” 

“ I am as free as you are, and mean to 
join the king.” 

“ And I,” said another, “ will never 
work another day.” 

“ Seize and bind the black rascals,” cried 
Coldfire. 

In an instant, several of the negroes 
obeyed the order. A scuffle ensued amongst 
them, but after several blows with the butt 
end of a gun, the two refractory negroes 
surrendered. 

Sergeant Buzzy fired his pistol, and was 
knocked down by one of the party. Julian 
interfered, and agreed that if Bowman and 
his companions v/ere not further molested, 
they would take no part in the neigh- 
borhood quarrel between the two parties, 
but depart and attend to their own private 
business. 

“ Well,” said Coldfire, “ I agree to the 
terms. Now you and your squad take the 
road, and give us the ground, for you are 
in bad company, and the sooner you dis- 
solve the copartnership the better.” 

Lieutenant Bowman was dragged up, 
and mounted on his horse, unable to ride. 
After Julian had ascertained that Buzzy 
was not much hurt, he began to attempt to 
expostulate on account of the inabilities of 
Lieutenant Bowman to ride. 

“ This will retain him safely in his seat,” 
said one of Coldfire’s men, pulling out a 
strong cord : “ and if I had my way, it should 
be a cravat instead of a stay- and prop for 
his drunken carcass.” 

“ Up with his buffship,” said Coldfire. 

Julian refused to assist, and Serjeant 
Buzzy begged to be excused. 

“ Take his carcass up,” said Coldfire, to 
the negroes. 

“ Don’t hang me, you black devils,” said 
Bowman ; “ I ’ll have you all whipped — 
yes, hung and quartered !” 

“Up with the whiskey barrel, boys, and 
lash him to his horse.” 

“ And me in the same way V’ said Joice. 

“ Not exactly,” replied Coldfire. 

After a great deal of cursing and flound- 
ering, Lieutenant Bowman was snugly tied 
on his horse. Sergeant Buzzy and Julian 
started with their commander-in-chief, with 
orders from Coldfire not to stop nor un- 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


53 


loose him until sunrise, “ for if you do, I 
swear I will hang two out of three of you, 
and I will not say which shall escape.” 

“ Don’t hang me, my dear friend,” said 
Joice. ' 

‘‘ Nor me !” — “ Nor me !” — “ Nor me !” 
continued the two white men, and several 
of the negroes. 

“ We have no witnesses now,” said one 
of the men, who had followed for some dis- 
tance Julian’s company, and had returned. 

“ Exactly right — I would have taken the 
whole, but I want no witnesses. To work, 
tlien,” said Coldfire. 

The unfortunate prisoners, though much 
overcome with their late debauch, quickly 
recovered the full possession of their senses. 
Fear operated as a solacing process upon 
them ; they knew well the character of the 
Lieutenant. 

“ Will you exchange us, or let us off on 
parole, Mr. Coldfire!” 

» No.” 

“ Then,” continued Joice, “ you do not 
intend any thing further than a little sport 
by tying us in this uncomfortable way !” 

“ No !” 

“ Do you intend to carry us before the 
civil authorities, as every thing now is in 
a regular way, and the king’s laws have 
been acknowledged by all the great men 
of the State except yourself, and I have no 
doubt that you are ready and willing to 
execute the laws of the land !” 

“ I am !” 

“ I.ead off, boys,” said Coldfire, pointing 
towards a creek that ran some three or 
four hundred yards from the encampment. 

“ I don’t like this fun much, Joice,” said 
one of the prisoners ; “ is this the way you 
have made my fortune !” 

“ I regret that we have not McQuirk 
and Clannagan here,” said a second, “ then 
my destroyers would see to what they have 
brought me. My poor wife and children, 
Joice, will follow you as long as you live, 
and haunt you to your grave.” 

“ Oh, that will not be long — 

Sing derry down, derry down. 

Yes, poor Jerry Hanks will soon go down.” 

Thus sung the third prisoner. 

“ Come, Isaac Beeman, this is not the 
way to do ; you had better be praying, than 
singing in this manner — 

Lord be merciful to me, a sinner, 

Who ’ll never eat another dinner ; 

And Jerry Hanks will never steal, 

Nor lie, nor cry, nor think, nor feel.” 

“ Now, I do declare,” said Joice, “ it is a 
d d shame to suffer such insolence, 

5 


and when I get out of this scrape, Mr. Iky 
Beeman, I ’ll settle with you for this inso- 
lence.” 

“ Poor Jimmy Joice, poor Jimmy Joice, 

Will have to take the hangman’s choice.” 

“ Silence, sir,” said Coldfire. 

“ There is a good tree,” said one of his 
company to Coldfire. “It hangs exactly 
right; it will just fall with the bend into 
the water, a still, silent place, where no- 
thing will disturb them, for their hair ropes 
were made out of the tails of young and 
strong horses, and will never rot, until the 
water has dissolved the last pound of 
flesh, or the fishes have eat the last ounce 
off.” 

“ My God ! Coldfire — is it possible you 
are going to murder us in cold blood!” 
asked Joice. 

“Oh, my sweet friend,” said Hanks, 
“do not hurry our poor souls off into 
eternity — 

Pray then, Hanks, and cry Mr. Joice, 

In a rogue’s whine and a rogue’s voice ; 

But Ilf^'- Beeman, let him live. 

Proof against such thieves to give.” 

The morning’s dawn began to appear, 
and the moon in the west threw a strong 
light upon the faces of the several actors. 

The two refractory negroes, well known 
as accomplished villains, having been tied, 
were ordered to mount the stooping tree, 
and after the ropes (which had already 
been placed around their necks) were fast- 
ened to it, they were ordered to spring off. 
The desperadoes, despairing* of life, ac- 
knowledged their crimes and murders, and 
then cursing their white accomplices and 
their executioners, plunged boldly off. 
The struggle was a brief one, for the pow- 
erful leap, added to the heavy weights 
which had been fastened to their legs, 
broke their necks, and they sunk deep, to 
rise no more. 

Two or three pots were brought from 
the camp and filled with small stones, and 
tied to the feet of the two white men, who 
had been forced on the tree after a hard 
scuffle, in which each had been knocked 
over the head. Three or four of the most 
powerful negroes were ordered to assist in 
binding them. From cries and entreaties, 
they changed to cursing and defiance of 
their executioners. 

“I choked your damn mother, and shot 
your uncle,” said Joice to Coldfire. 

“And I murdered your brother, Tom 
Ramsay ; and I ran away with your sister, 
and sold her for an Indian pony, Mr. 


54 


ONSLOW) 


GofForcl,” said Hanks, to one of Coldfire’s 
associates. 

After the ropes were arranged, and the 
weights placed to the feet of the several 
culprits, they were shoved from the tree. 
The rattling of the pots, and the shrieks of 
tlie dying men were all soon over. After 
they were supposed to be dead, the negroes 
were ordered to cut the tree down. It 
soon fell, stooping as it was, and effectually 
buried in the deep water the perpetrators 
of fraud and murder. 

“ Well, Mr. Beeman, your time comes 
next.” 

“ Oh no, Lieuten?int Coldfire, you must 
hold a Court Martial over those rascals, 
and I will be State’s evidence against 
them. You know that I am at heart a 
good Whig; but they forced me into the 
scrape, as I can prove by several of these 
negroes.” 

“But they are not good witnesses in 
law,” said Coldfire. 

“Yes, massa,” said one, “I am a lawful 
witness, for I know dey take oberseer and 
would be hung him if he no come — dat I 
know be truth !” 

“ Well, well,” said Coldfire, “ we must 
have a Court Martial over these fellows. 
You heard their last words. But this is no 
place for trials now ; we must wait until 
we get to Captain Bucklebelt, who will sit 
as president of the Court.” 

Returning to the encampment, the bag- 
gage of the negroes was packed up, and a 
speedy retreat made along the path that 
Coldfire and his party had come. 

“ I will see you all back to your masters, 
and you, Mr. Beeman, must justify your- 
self to them, or, like your good friends, you 
must hang,” said Coldfire, as he ordered 
the company to move forwards, whilst he 
and one of his companions pushed up the 
rear. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

He 

Breaks through all law-nets made to curb ill men, 
As they were cobwebs. No man dares reprove 
him. 

Such a spirit to dare, and power to do, were 
mever lodged so unluckily. 

A New Way to Pay Old Debts. 

According to previous appointment, Not- 
wood and his party of pleasure reached the 
neighborhood of Forest Hill. In the mean 
while. Miss Conway, being impatient to 
see her father’s family, was conducted 
home from Mrs. Wittingham’s, at whose 


house, then a kind of Loyalist head-quar- 
ters, most of the partisans of the King 
were in the habit of calling. For reasons 
which Notwood did not disclose, he pur- 
sued his journey earlier than he had con- 
templated, and thus arrived at the appoint- 
ed place sooner than Julian and his com- 
panions. 

Julian and Buzzy adhered to the terms 
imposed on them by Lieutenant Coldfire, 
although Bowman swore most lustily that 
he would report them to their superiors ; 
or he would hold them personally responsi- 
ble if they were not sufficiently punished, 
a promise which was destined never to be 
fulfilled, for as soon as he had learnt the 
particulars of his narrow escape, and the 
probable fate of his boon companions, ho 
proposed that the whole affair should not 
be mentioned at all. But Julian said, in 
his own justification, that- he should report 
most of the particulars when he met with 
Gant and Notwood. 

Col. Ben. Clannagan, a noted Tory lead- 
er, with his trusty followers and their sub- 
altern officers, were encamped some few 
hundred yards from the house. 

“ And you have cut up the damned re- 
bels, root and branch, Colonel Tarleton, at 
the Waxhaws. It was a wholesale af- 
fair, and will settle the stomachs of the 
rebels for some time,” said Clannagan. 

“ Yes, sir — cold steel well applied is a 
great restorer to allegiance ; it was some- 
what harsh, but given so effectually, so 
secundum artem, as my good friend. Dr. 
Caius C. Cain, would say, that it made up 
for any little want of pleasure on the part 
of the patients. I ’m a Hessian, Major 
Notwood, if my friend, the Doctor, did not 
luxuriate over their carcases ; it would 
have done your heart good to have seen 
the old lark probing a wound under the 
ribs of one of the bayonetted rebels ; to see 
the cool and quiet eyes of the Doctor 
sparkle as he sounded the different shoals 
of the poor devil, as he begged the Doctor 
not to hurt him, or asked if he thought he 
could save his life.” 

“Aye! you were right then. Colonel, 
to give but little quarter, where their suf- 
ferings must have been so considerable. 
I ’m sorry from the bottom of my heart,” 
continued Notwood, “ for the whole af- 
fair, but it was a brilliant and truly chiv- 
alric feat, equal to the ‘ veni vidi vici’ of 
Csesar.” 

“ It must have been a cruel and revolt- 
ing scene,” said Captain Gant, “and whilst 
I am in his majesty’s service, I hope never 
to witness such an one.” 


/ 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


55 


“ Yes,” said Clannagan, shruof^infr his 
shoulders, and twisting his long agile frame 
half round towards Gant, whilst his small 
gray eyes shot a half suppressed glance of 
scorn ; “ yes, Captain Gant, no doubt such 
scenes would be revolting. The sickly 
philanthropist is the worst enemy of man- 
kind, and precisely such sentiments have 
kept up a good portion of the resistance to 
the king. Your fools in Parliament, with 
their speeches, and your kind hearted offi- 
cers here, cause more bloodshed than they 
will ever be able to account for.” 

“Colonel Tarleton,” continued the ex- 
cited partisan, growing warm with his 
subject, “ these very sentiments have 
caused me sleepless nights and weary 
hours ; I have to meet stratagem by 
stratagem, and force by force ; their 
necks must be kept down, or ours must 
go down. You may retreat when you 
please to your ships, or to your well regu- 
lated country, and to all your ease and 
enjoyment ; but you will bequeath us 
strife, confiscation, and tortures if you 
leave the work but half accomplished. 
You have only irritated — you must hum- 
ble; and my advice is, that every man 
should be compelled to fight for his king 
and his protection, and that all who are 
not busily engaged in the field, should be 
compelled to contribute. Major Notwood, 
your good uncle Conway must help — he 
has not been sufficiently noticed to let him 
know where he belongs ; he is lukewarm ; 
stir him up, and identify him with us at 
once.” 

“ Most excellent advice,” chuckled 
Tarleton. 

Julian, who had arrived with Buzzy and 
Lieutenant Bowman, and who had been an 
unnoticed listener, hearing the tenor of 
this conversation, unable to suppress his 
utter detestation of such sentiments, re- 
moved from their company. 

“ And who have you yonder V’ said 
Clannagan to Notwood, fixing his small 
piercing eyes on Julian, who siood leaning 
against one of the trees before the piazza. 

“ A gentleman on parole, a friend of Sir 
Henry Clinton, a young fellow from the 
North, who has got sick, I think, of his 
fun, and would like to have a decent ex- 
cuse to retire from the strife ; a land of 
half way lover of Mrs. Armon^ the sister 
to the noble Mrs. Arbuckle — and I believe 
he is an acquaintance, also, of old Gray- 
son’s girl. You understand. Colonel,” 
said Notwood. 

“ He does not look like a Northern man 
to me,” replied Clannagan, “ and I doubt 


the whole affair of his honesty. Mark me. 
Major, that mah is a spy or a rebel. I 
have been noticing his countenance all the 
while we were talking, and I saw his lip 
curl, and his cheeks color, and his head 
was thrown up unconsciously.” 

“Never fear,” said Notwood, “he can 
do nothing of himself, and as I tliink some- 
thing of him, I ’ll have him registered, and 
then let him be sent out on a collecting 
expedition, and his Whig friends will make 
him sick of them and their cause. Is it 
not an excellent thought!” asked Not- 
wood. 

“Unnecessary trouble,” replied Clanna- 
gan; “he is a spy or an impostor. He is 
no Northerner — he will forfeit his word, 
and betray us the first opportunity.” 

“ Perhaps,” said Notwood, “the fate of 
the rebels at White Hall may settle his 
courage — but I think with you, he is not 
from the North.” 

“ He acted very prudently in the affair 
the other night, at least from the account 
he has just given me,” continued Not- 
wood, watching the countenance of Clan- 
nagan. 

“ What affair !” asked Clannagan. 

Notwood stated the whole affair of the 
encampment, suggesting that it was likely 
that the negro stealers were hung, or al- 
ready safely lodged in some deep thicket 
or morass with those who had captured 
them. 

“ I think he acted very cowardly,” re- 
plied Clannagan, “ and I fear his majesty’s 
two officers did no better. Joice and Hanks 
were two of my most active and confiden- 
tial regulators; they never fell short of 
doing as much as I required of them, and I 
swear I will hang every rascal that had 
any hand in their death, or even if they 
have molested them. Your friend Julian 
may swing yet.” 

It was with some difficulty that Not- 
wood prevented Clannagan from insulting 
Julian and the subaltern’s travellers, on 
the ground that they should have resisted, 
and aided .loice and his friends. 

“I shall leave here instantly to scour 
the country; that fellow Coldfire is only 
the jackall of Biicklebelt and old Walden ; 
there is something in this affair which 
means more than we can see, and it shall 
be looked to.” 

Tarleton called Cain to him, and say- 
ing — 

“ Well, Doctor, have you got over the 
glorious opportunity I gave you of trying 
your great skill in gun-shot wounds at 
Waxhaws!” 


56 


ONSLOW, 


“ No, Colonel, and I shall never regret 
but one thing in that fight ; I had so few 
left with a medicable chance — so little left 
to chance or skill. I had the pleasure, 
however, to see the most varied and mag- 
nificent wounds! Conjecture is lost in the 
quickness of the deed, and the variety of 
the victims. I noticed several fellows 
with ten or fifteen wounds inflicted, either 
of which must have proved fatal — a thrust, 
for instance, near the jugular — a slash 
across the nose, down into the mouth — 
a fling across the back of the neck, until 
the head rested on the breast — and, sir, I 
saw one poor fellow stretched with ail his 
fingers off, except the forefinger of the 
right hand, with his left eye out, and the 
hand of his left arm cut off Many were 
the shades and style of the different 
wounds ; but little chance was left in such 
cases for the surgeon.” 

“ Of course, Doctor, but little,” replied 
Tarleton, with a smile of assent, and then 
adding — “ Well, Doctor, I will give you a 
chance now to try your descriptive pow- 
ers on a new friend, a kind of gentlemanly 
enemy on parole, holding a neutral friend- 
ship — a kind of reward we have invented 
for perjury.” 

“ Shall I strip him of the warp and wool 
down to a state of nudity, and take a sur- 
veyance of the nsevse maternsB, as well as 
the vulna obtained in his various warfaring 
through life ]” 

“ I suppose that will be rather too close 
and rigorous an examination. But any 
way. Doctor, so you get through quickly, 
and to your own satisfaction.” 

Tarleton joined the gentlemen and ladies 
in the house, whilst Dr. Cain proceeded 
toward Julian, who had continued to occu- 
py his station, apparently abstracted from 
surrounding scenes. 

This Dr. Caius Cornelius Cain was a 
bottle-nosed surgeon, attached to Tarle- 
ton’s command, and weighed about two 
hundred pounds; he was slightly bald; 
much precaution had been taken to allow 
the hair to grow until it was long enough, 
and then it was plaited across the head, 
whilst all which grew on the occiput was 
carefully combed forward, making a gene- 
ral meeting of the ends on the top of the 
head, or over the baldness. The dimen- 
sions of the Doctor were very much in the 
shape of a sack of wool, though he tapered 
from his shoulders down to his feet, being 
a little rotund in the waist. He stood ^lort 
and strong in his shoes, the personification 
of servility, science and egotism. His full 
grayish eyes, and large thick lips, were in 


keeping with his greenish, greasy skin; 
his countenance was one which nobody 
loved, yet every one was disposed to pass 
him by with a smile of ridicule, saying or 
believing that he was a good-natured, self- 
conceited fool. The Doctor had acquired 
a fashion, whenever he wished to be mi- 
nute, or particularly successful, to mount 
a pair of goggles. On this occasion, this 
premonitory evidence of the state of his 
mind had not been neglected. 

Approaching the place where Julian 
stood, he accosted him somewhat in the 
following strain. 

“ Sir, your most obedient — 1 am glad to 
see you — hope, sir, you are prepared for my 
official duties.” 

Julian bowed to this salutation, and re- 
plied — 

“ I am prepared, sir, for any official du- 
ties you may have with me, unless you 
are the hangman !” 

“Facetious! ay! No, sir — my occupa- 
tion is the reverse — it is to cure, not to 
kill. But, my dear sir, the commander-in- 
chief of his Majesty’s cavalry forces has 
vouchsafed to admit you on honorable pa- 
role, and for reasons good and sufficient 
unto the aforesaid, as the Doctores legis 
would say, has requested me the head of 
his chirurgical department, the propriety 
and fitness of which selection will be fully 
exemplified, and practically illustrated on 
you the examinee. 

“ These,” said the Doctor, adjusting his 
goggles, “ are necessary from hard and ef- 
fective study ; and especially since my im- 
mediate sojourn in this torrid zone ; and 
let me advise you by all means to use such 
in preference to the more showy specta- 
cles ; provided, nevertheless, the stress of 
your occupation should fall upon the optic 
nerves.” 

“ Why, really, my dear sir,” said Julian, 
“ I am entirely ignorant of the precise 
honor intended me by the commander-in- 
chief and his learned surgeon.” 

“ Stop, sir,” said Dr. Cain, “ allow me 
to correct you. I mean, sir, the comman- 
der-in-chief of his Majesty’s cavalry 
forces.” 

“I stand corrected,” replied Julian, half 
inclined to be merry at the uncouth man- 
ners and appearance of the learned Doctor. 
“ But, sir,” continued Julian, “ with a nose 
so aquiline as mine, and a pair of goggles, 
I might be mistaken for an owl, or some- 
thing equally uncouth.” 

“And pray, sir,” asked the Doctor, 
which would be most disgraced, yourself, 
or he who might make such an allusion 1 


A TALE OP THE SOUTH. 


57 


for mistake it could not be. Sir,” con- 
tinued the very learned Doctor, whose 
wrinkled front alone gave indication of a 
little warmth, for behind his goggles all 
was darkness and mystery, “ is not the 
strix bubo, or horned owl, a bird next to 
the eagle, or do you allude to the strix 
Jlamma, the screech owll What, sir, did 
tire immortal Shakspeare say — 

‘ A falcon towering in her pride of place, 

Was, by a mousing owl, hawked at and killed.’ 

There are between forty and fifty species, 
and I have not the time now to repeat 
their names ; they are considered very ra- 
pacious.” 

“Excuse me, Doctor, I should like to 
know your business with me.” 

“Yes, sir. The commander-in-chief,” 
said Doctor Cain, “ to be brief, has direct- 
ed, as you are a stranger to us, that I 
should take down your name, age, height, 
and any remarkable spots or scars about 
your person, whether they be natural or 
acquired. This, sir, is the true practice 
in all paroles given by the armies of the 
transatlantic countries, and wherever good 
discipline prevails.” 

“And for what purpose or benefit!” 
asked Julian. 

“ Why, my young friend,” said the Doc- 
tor, smiling, “you certainly do not require 
to be told that it serves to test the know- 
ledge of the surgeon, as well as the obedi- 
ence of the examinee ; but, mainly, it is 
held in terror em over his head, to prevent 
desertions, or rather to prevent his disre- 
garding his word of honor, and the confi- 
dence placed in him. Sir,” said Dr. C. C. 
Cain, lifting up his goggles, “ do you, or 
do you not, refuse to undergo the registra- 
tion, or, as some dolts say, the grinding! 
If you do, sir, I shall be under the unplea- 
sant necessity of reporting you to his high- 
ness, my commander, the chief of all. the 
forces here and hereabouts.” 

“No,” said Julian, assuming a smile, 
“ I shall raise no objections to the official 
duties of the army surgeon, unless he in- 
fringe upon the laws of propriety, or sub- 
ject me to too much inconvenience.” 

“ What is your name, sir!” demanded 
Cain, preparing to register it down. 

“ Julian Onslow.” 

“Julian Onslow — a pretty soft name, 
but it does not alliterate like my own. It 
is down. Now, sir, stand up against this 
post — pretty high — an attitude somewhat 
dangerous in battle, if the opposite party 
should shoot high ; eyes dark-brown, com- 
plexion fair, hair auburn, shape a little 


slender — and, sir, have you any marks pro- 
duced from frights or vitiated tastes, known 
as ncevoe materncs .^” 

“ What in the devil are you after!” said 
Clannagan, coming up and eyeing Julian 
rather closely. 

“ I am making sure work, sir.” 

“ Sure work ! the rope makes sure 
work !” said Clannagan, turning abruptly 
on his heels, and walking into the parlor 
again. 

Julian failed not to mark the fierce gaze 
of Clannagan, as he hastily scowled at 
him. 

Doctor Cain having proceeded through 
the registration, walked boldly into the 
house, and with an air of exultation hand- 
ed his schedule into the hands of Tarleton, 
who, having glanced at it a moment, read 
audibly — 

“ The dimensions, description and pecu- 
liarities of Julian Onslow, the examinee, 
as correctly taken down by Caius C. Cain, 
Esq., Chirurgeon to his Majesty’s forces 
under the command of his Excellency, 
Colonel Tarleton, commanding, &c., &c. 
Auburn or dark brown hair, dark brown 
eyes, fair complexion, aquiline nose, rather 
careless cast of the countenance, and su- 
percilious glance of the eye, a scar on the 
forehead, just under the hair, on the left 
side.” 

“From stealing, no doubt,” said Clan- 
nagan. 

“ More like,” replied Dr. Cain, “ it is a 
vulnus from a pettifogger of those wilds, if 
such they have.” 

“ Or a sabre stroke,” replied Gant, “ and 
I can tell you. Col. Clannagan, that you do 
Onslow great injustice, if you suppose him 
capable of a mean action.” 

“It is a matter of perfect indifference 
with me, whether he is or not,” said Clan- 
nagan. “ But this I will say, he must be 
started immediately, or we shall lose time 
until the opportunity escapes, of getting ser- 
vice out of him. I ’ll arrange the matter,” 
continued Clannagan, and if you have no 
objection, Maj. Notwood, I will join your 
name with mine in the request,” assuming 
an air of greater kindness. 

Clannagan proceeded to where Julian 
W’’as, and expressed his good wishes to him, 
at the same time telling him that it became 
necessary for him to have a guide, and to 
proceed immediately, for, said he, “ you 
may meet with such as may not respect 
your mission. I will give you a counter- 
sign and a trusty guide ; your life depends 
upon the faithful performance of this im- 
portant errand. Deliver, sir,” continued 


58 


ONSLOW, 


he, “ these into the hands of Col. Arthur 
Conway. You may rely on my determina- 
tion to ascertain the manner in which you 
carry out your trust.” 

“ I must,” said Julian, “be excused from 
such an undertaking, unacquainted as I am 
with the contents of your letters, and stand- 
ing, as I do, on parole.” 

“As to your parole,” said Clannagan, 
“I consider that as worthless. You are, 
by our late manifesto, made a subject of 
the King ; these letters, sir, do not inter- 
fere with any knpwn duty. But, sir, hesi- 
tation is not in my vocabulary; you have to 
comply with my request, demand, or what- 
ever you may choose to consider it, and, 
mark me, it will be best for you to have 
the business well and faithfully performed ! 
Here, sir, are the letters.” 

Julian moved not a hand towards the let- 
ters held out to him, but looking the haugh- 
ty speaker in the eye, calmly replied: 
“ Seek your own vassals to perform your 
insolent commands.” 

“ If you will not obey me, then I will 
obey you, sir,” replied Clannagan, almost 
bursting with rage. He immediately sought 
Notwood, saying, “ I will yet be revenged 
on your rebel friend ; you must manage 
him, for the present ; here are the letters 
and passports, I must immediately attend to 
Coldfire, and his dastardly accomplices.” 

Notwood, deeply interested in sending 
Julian to Forest Hill, earnestly besought 
him to start immediately, with Tidder as a 
guide, on the proposed visit ; Julian hesi- 
tated, but, after a few suggestions from 
Capt. Gant, he agreed to set out without 
further delay. 

Clannagan, after Julian and Tidder had 
departed, took leave of his several friends, 
urging Col. Tarleton to stir up the luke- 
warm royalists, particularly mentioning 
Col. Conway. “ Yes, sir,” answered Col. 
Tarleton, “ we dine there in a few days,” 
and he added, as Clannagan left the room, 
“ I know not, Capt. Gant, how soon after- 
wards, we may be invited to a wedding.” 

Miss Dashwood looked at Gant, with evi- 
dent surprise, saying with a sigh, “ it is 
what I expected ; it is what I have prophe- 
sied.” 

“ You shall certainly be at the wedding, 
Miss Dashwood,” said Gant, blushing, “ if 
it ever takes place ; but, I assure you, the 
preliminaries are yet to be arranged.” 

“ The preliminaries yet to be arranged, 
I suppose, are such as sighing and writing 
poetry, and looking unutterable things, or, 
are the preliminaries the asking the old 
people 1” 


“ I supposed you would have known all 
about such affairs, Miss Dashwood; and 
that whatever definition you might attach 
to preliminaries, they are already, in your 
case, fully settled,” said Notwood, seating 
himself near her, and keeping up the light 
and gay conversation. 

Clannagan complained to his trusty fol- 
lowers, bitterly, of the supercilious drones, 
who fluttered about, eating and courting 
whilst he and his followers had the brunt 
of the war to sustain. “ It is a hard lot at 
best,” he said, musing for a moment ; “de- 
spised by these titled nobility, and hunted 
and hated by our own countrymen ! Well, 
we are in too deep now to halt ; and I have 
some debts yet to settle with some of the 
rebels, which I will execute successfully, 
or lose my life in the attempt. What care I 
for the opinions of men or women I selfish 
and faithless I have found all except one, 
oh! Rachel Walden!” He swept his hand 
hastily across his swarthy brow, and spur- 
ring his charger gave a shrill whistle, which 
was the signal for his company to hasten 
their pace. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

Barbarigo. Yours ! 

They speak your language, watch your nod, ap- 
prove your plans, and do your work ; are they not 
yours ? — The two Foscari.? 

If the good reader will turn back to the 
first three chapters of these adventures, he 
will perceive that they might, very proper- 
ly occupy this place; but, as they have 
been introduced somewhat out of order, for 
the purpose of illustrating certain facts, 
not so readily applicable to other chapters, 
an excuse will be found in the unincum- 
bered continuity of the immediate chain of 
events which is now to be presented. It 
will be recollected, that Julian, after his 
fruitless mission to Col. Conway’s mansion, 
departed without his guide, Timothy. Tid- 
der, who had been furnished by Clannagan 
to conduct him through the morasses and 
bye-paths of the^ country. It was on the 
same morning aiter Julian left Col. Con- 
way’s, that the following incidents oc- 
curred. In fact, Julian had left the house 
but a short distance, when he was met in 
a sudden turn of the road by three men, 
well armed with muskets. 

“Stop!” said the foremost, presenting 
his musket, “ you appear to be in a devil 
of a hurry ; why so early out, upon a fast- 
ing stomach 1 who are you, and which way 
are you driving 1” 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


59 


“ I am on business of your superiors and 
returning ; as to the question, ‘ who I am,’ 
I answer that I was a mere soldier of for- 
tune, out of employment, and have been 
unceremoniously drafted a drudge, by your 
particular friends.” 

“You are a d — d rebel, and we will soon 
give you employment. Can you tread the 
wind awhile, at the end of a ropel” asked 
another of the company. 

“ Any thing for amusement, gentlemen,” 
replied Julian, attempting a jocular air, 
greatly at variance with his real forebod- 
ings ; “ any way, gentlemen, that would be 
equitable; but perhaps some of you will 
bear me company,^as we appear to be pret- 
ty much in the same way of seeking new 
adventures.” 

“ Ah, ha ! is that your tune, young man"!” 
continued the last speaker ; “ do you expect 
to come round us in that way'? We are 
rather too old turkeys to be yelped up by 
such a piper ; you rnust come nearer to the 
true sound before we answer.” 

“Then, gentlemen,” said Julian, eyeing 
the road and the prospect of an escape, 
which was unfortunately impossible ; “I ’ll 
give you the genuine note, and if you are 
of the true game, you will answer, and if 
you are not, why then, three pluck one will 
be foul or fair, according to the party which 
is right or wrong.” 

“ You seem,” said the first speaker, a 
dark skinned man, with a dished face, and 
large white eyes, and who stooped in the 
shoulders, “ to harp a good deal about equi- 
ty, foul and fair, right and wrong; but 
come, my lark, sing out; we want our 
breakfast and we have but little time to 
throw away.” 

“ Well, gentlemen, I will begin right. I 
am, I believe, in the company of Messrs. 
Snyder, McQuirk and Fawk.” The two 
last had been described to Julian by Tidder. 

“ So far, so good,” said Snyder, “ but I 
should like to know how you got in posses- 
sion of my name ; was it, sir, when you and 
your carousing clan pilfered me out of my 
money '? were you not one of the betting 
copartners of Notvvood, at the Charleston 
balll” 

Julian looked for a moment at the ques- 
tioner, whose fierce eyes sparkled with 
something of malignant satisfaction!, whilst 
his sturdy and powerful frame swelled with 
conscious security. His thick, bushy, red 
whiskers, which he twirled with his left 
hand, added greatly to his ferocity, and he 
half laughed out as he saw the confusion 
which his questions produced upon the 
countenance of Julian. 


“ I have the countersign of Col. Clanna- 
gan,” said Julian, pulling it out and hand- 
ing it to McQuirk ; for he had no disposi- 
tion to place himself within the immediate 
grasp of such a frame as that of Snyder.” 

“ This is very good, the real grit,” said 
McQuirk. 

“No,” said Fawk. “The countersign 
reads loyalty and royalty, Cornwallis and 
Clannagan ;” that would have done a 
month or two ago, but here is the last, 
which I got a day or two ago from Clanna- 
gan himself ; the name of Tarleton is sub- 
stituted in lieu of that of Cornwallis, since 
his great battle.” 

“ Let me look at it,” said Snyder, seiz- 
ing it. “ This is worth about as much as 
that green leaf, there, and now, sir, the an- 
swer, the answer to my question ; and Not- 
wood’s name too, to this,” continued Sny- 
der, still looking occasionally over the slip 
of paper which he held, “and look, Mc- 
Quirk,” said he, “ what do these zig zag 
lines mean, here at the bottom, and this H. 
T. Bl” 

“ Why,” said McQuirk, it is the Colonel’s 
private mark ! Leaving the discretion 
with his confidential friends, but it is badly 
written and very small.” 

“ What does it mean, McQuirk '?” asked 
Snyder, somewhat impatient at not getting 
an answer. 

“ The crooked line means a rope, and 
the letters mean hang the bearer.” 

“ Exactly, right,” said Snyder, “ Hang 
the bearer^ 

Julian saw his danger, and quickly re- 
capitulated his business with Conway, and 
the private charge which Col. Clannagan 
had given him, and the great necessity, in 
the existing state of things, that he should 
return and relate personally what he had 
seen and heard ; and gentlemen,” said Ju- 
lian, “ if you will look at the last letters 
and the countersign, you will perceive a 
great difference in the color of the ink 
and the size of the letters ; no doubt Col. 
Clannagan had this merely as a blank, 
which he in his hurry overlooked ; but 
where was the necessity of letting me off* 
when he had me in his power, and could 
at any moment have swung me to the first 
tree that came in his way 1 and why may 
it not mean hear the hearer, or any other 
matter '?” 

“ I can tell you why he did not hang 
you, sir,” answered Snyder. “ It was be- 
cause your gambling friends were too near 
you, and furthermore he did not wish to 
have your blood upon his conscience.” 

“ A sorry compliment to you then, gen- 


60 


ONSLOW, 


tlemen, to wish to throw his murders on 
your shoulders. I imagine that those who 
know Col. Clannagan will not give him a 
name for any squeamishness on such points ; 
and to the gambling Mr. Snyder,” conti- 
nued Julian, “ I have to say that it was a 
mere matter of accident that I was present. 
I expostulated against having any agency 
in the matter.” 

“ A mere sham, sir, between scoundrels ! 
Search him to the skin, boys,” continu- 
ed Snyder, seizing the stirrups, whilst 
McQuirk took the horse by the bridle. 

Julian dismounted, and after having been 
thoroughly searched by Fawk and Snyder 
without finding any thing, was ordered to 
put on his clothes. 

“ The poor moneyless devil must swing,” 
said Snyder, “ for he is an impostor or a 
spy of old Marion, and sent to us to be 
swung.” 

“ I think,” said McQuirk, having mount- 
ed Julian’s horse, “ that if the young man 
could give up his horse to me, I could 
consent that he might take the track; for 
this is almost as good a nag as Shadow, 
and I think I could do the king some ser- 
vice if I owned this horse for a charger.” 

“Who did you steal Shadow from, good 
Mr. McQuirk 1” asked Snyder, with a wink 
of the eye at Fawk. 

“ You need not wink, sir,” said McQuirk, 
“ I took her in war from Col. Horry, sir, 
and I was doing my king’s business in so 
doing.” 

“ And pray, Mr. Julian Onslow, for that 
seems to be your name, from whom did you 
steal this horse 1” 

“ I have,” said Julian, “ already submit- 
ted to many indignities from you, more 
than one soldier should permit from ano- 
ther, and I ’ll answer no more of your ques- 
tions, unless these other two gentlemen say 
that I am a prisoner of war and on my 
trial, and you sitting as one of the court 
martial.” 

“He’s a rebel! he’s a rebel!” shouted 
Snyder, “ and prates of equality and rights 
as lustily as any rebel orator. I ’ll split 
his brains out at once.” 

Julian instinctively caught at the mus- 
ket held by Snyder, and springing with a 
desperate leap, succeeded in wresting it 
from his hand, dragging him to the ground, 
and was preparing to follow up his advan- 
tage with a blow from the butt end of the 
musket, when he bethought himself that 
the best plan would be to act on the defen- 
sive, and if possible make good his retreat 
with a well loaded weapon. McQuiik in 
the midst of the confusion fired off one of 


his pistols. The horse made a quick leap 
and rushed so close to a tree that he was 
thrown and desperately mangled; Fawk 
fired his gun, but Julian escaped, having 
chosen a part of the woods which had the 
most trees in it. Snyder in a rage seized 
the gun of McQuirk, which had been flung 
aside in his scuflle, or had fallen from his 
grasp, and ran after Julian, but finding the 
pursuit fruitless he showed his malice by 
shooting in the direction in which Julian 
ran. 

“ Is the horse thief dead 1” said Snyder 
to Fawk ; “ but for his everlasting desire 
to steal horses that scoundrel would now 
be swinging instead of running off* with 
a loaded gun before our faces ; and you, 
sir, are a coward, or you would not have 
missed such a chance.” 

“ To tell the truth, I am not quick on 
trigger in cold blood,” said Fawk, “ and es- 
pecially as Mr. McQuirk did not seem in- 
clined to hang him ; and besides, my old 
musket frizzed and blew so long before she 
went off, that I must have missed him un- 
less she had scattered more than common ; 
and besides, I’m not so certain that the 
countersign was right; but still I would 
have hung him if he had been prepared to 
die.” 

“ Prepared to die ! I wonder if you ex- 
pect to be prepared to die even if you were 
to live to be as old as Methusaleh 1” 

“ Yes, if I ’m in a righteous cause when 
my time comes, but let us bleed McQuirk, 
for his face is as black as my hat.” 

“ No, no,” said Snyder, feeling of 
McQuirk’s pulse, “ he has no pulse, and I 
don’t hold with drawing the life out of a 
man ; what, bleed in a collapse 1 no pulse, 
no heatl but I don’t care whether the thief 
lives or dies ! And you too are a poor 
cowardly puppy, or you would have knock- 
ed him over the head when I was scuffling 
with him.” 

“ I am what I am, and I can’t be no 
amer.” 

“ No, nor nothing else ; but — ” Snyder 
stopped short, and reloading his gun told 
Fawk to haul McQuirk to one side of the 
road and to nurse him if he chose, while he 
pursued Julian. 

Fawk seized McQuirk by the heels and 
dragged him aside from the road, and then 
sat down close to him, taking his head into 
his lap. “ Few such men as you, my dear- 
est friend. Yes! I have known you Mc- 
Quirk, (poor fellow, he breathes difficult, 
let me raise your head a little,) I have 
known you, let me see, for fifteen years; 
we were barely grown ; it was at a quilt- 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 



ing in North Carolina, where we had such 
a dance. I think he ought to have been 
bled ; I know Dr. String Halt would have 
bled him until he fainted ; but if his time 
aint come, all the wild horses in Arabia 
could not kill him ; and if it is, the least 
tiling in the world would take him off. I 
wonder if Snyder thinks he can overtake 
tliat ifimble-l egged fellow. I could have 
killed him if I had not been so taken on a 
surprise. Poor McQuirk ! I think you will 
never get over it. Well, I wish I had 
never been caught with two such noted 
rascals. I believe that the whole State 
could not furnish two such cold-hearted 
villains. I wish I could get rid of their 
acquaintance. I wish to God McQuirk 
would die ; no, I was going to say, that I 
wished Snyder might never get back 
again.” 

Thus continued Fawk, until perceiving 
that McQuirk was not dead, he concluded 
that he would rest until Snyder returned, 
saying, “ I must be still, I am your friend, 
McQuirk, and I will let you rest.” He 
then stretched himself alongside the body 
of McQuirk, who groaned and nyittered oc- 
casionally in an incoherent voice. 

Snyder returned and found both his 
friends stretched on the ground. 

“ A pretty pair of scoundrels,” said Sny- 
der, “ Pm a great mind to despatch them 
and leave them to the wolves and vultures. 
I may run my legs off, and they are as 
quiet as if every thing was to their heart’s 
content,” 

Col. Conway and his servant Cato, as 
already related in a preceding chapter, 
had taken Julian’s horse which had return- 
ed to the house of the Colonel, and had got 
this far in search of Julian when they came 
upon the group. 

“Is the young man dead, sirl” asked 
Col. Conway of Snyder as he rode up. 
What, two wounded 1 it must have been 
the guns that I heard this morning ; have 
you your lancet along, Cato 1” 

“ Dead, I suppose,” said Snyder, “ or 
asleep, or something of the sort. Rise, you 
sleepy-headed calf,” continued he, pulling 
Fawk’s hair, “ you woolly-headed sentinel 
of the woods, rise.” 

“ Oh don’t pester me so,” said Fawk, “ I 
was so grieved at the misfortunes of my 
friend, that it weighed so heavily on my 
heart that it produced a drowsiness,” 

Fawk was of the middle size, well set, 
though slender ; had a curly, bushy head' 
of hair of the reddish or sandy cast ; and 
red eyes, which either from the climate 
or his free habits were constantly in- 


flamed ; his face was somewhat long, and 
his nose aquiline; he affected great polite- 
ness and humanity, and wished to pass as 
the peculiar friend of the distressed. On 
seeing Col. Convyay he assumed his usual 
air of politeness. 

“ Col. Conway, I presume,” said Fawk. 

“ Yes, sir,” said Conway, leaning down 
and feeling the pulse of McQuirk. “ He 
must be bled, Cato, do it at once.” 

“ Better giv him de brandy fust, massa,” 
said Cato, pulling out a small bottle. 

“ Pour it in, old boy,” said Snyder, “ I 
like your medicine the best.” 

“ Yes, massa, it mighty good for inward 
bruises and misfortunes of any kind what- 
somdever, and de crowfoot had better be 
supplied to his wounds likewise.” 

“ The niggar ’s right, gentlemen,” said 
Fawk. 

Cato cast his large muddy eyes at him, 
with a mixture of pride and contempt. 

“ Nigger or no nigger, I guess I base as 
much experience in such things as any 
body ; but I never did hear my friend Capt. 
Tidder say nigger to a well behaved re- 
spectful black man in my life.” 

“ Who, Timmy Tidder the big fighter 1” 
asked Fawk. 

“ Yes,” replied Cato, still surly. 

“ Why, I knew him like a book, and as 
good hearted a little devil as I ever knew.” 

McQuirk having had the strong brandy 
poured down his throat, was so much rous- 
ed by the coughing or strangling, that he 
opened his eyes, and raising himself up, 
vociferated, 

“ Where is the spy 1 I gave him one good 
load ; where ’s the coltl he ’s a wonderful 
spry thing. Oh my arm, my shoulder ! 
Wont you help me, Fawky 1 You lay down 
by me and slept while lAvas parching for 
water, and could not speak a syllable. Yes 
you did, friend Fawky.” 

“ Yes, massa, he is a good colt ; but I be 
afeard you killed one fine gentleman about 
him.” 

“ I told you so, Fawk ; I told you he was 
a spy or recruit of the rebels.” 

“ No, upon my word, gentlemen,” re- 
plied Conway, “ yesterday he was sent by 
officers of high rank to my house on special 
business, and was not from the rebels.” 

“ We are in want of a few pounds, shil- 
lings and pence. Col. Conway, and we don’t 
mean to be put off as was the spy, your 
friend.” 

“ Here, sir, is all I have,” replied Con- 
way, handing a purse containing a few 
shillings to Conway. 

“A very scanty collection this,” said 


62 


ONSLOW. 


Snyder to Fawk ; then turning to the Col- 
onel, “ I wish you to take McQuirk home 
with you, and treat him well. Come, lazy 
bones, we must find that rebel or get with 
Clannagan, or our necks will be swung 
before we know it.” 

“ Who takes the horse 1” inquired Mc- 
Quirk, making a most rueful face, as he 
raised up. “ Oh these pains, they will kill 
me ; you are not going to leave me here, 
boys, in a strange place ; do leave me the 
horse then.” 

“Yes, de sick man, de sick man must 
take de horse of course.” 

“You black mockingbird, you wish to 
get him back for your rebel friend, do you 1” 
asked Snyder. 

“ I ’m friend to all honest folks, raassa, 
and perhaps as good a one to the King as 
he is to me.” 

“ Take the horse, Fawk, and pick up 
your baggage ; McQuirk will have horse 
stealing sins enough to answer for, with- 
out adding this one to his catalogue ; good 
day to you all ; and Colonel, let me warn 
you to keep a good eye upon your rebel 
friend ; for he is rather a suspicious visitor.” 

McQuirk expostulated, declaring he 
would try to go with them if they would 
return. At length he began to swear in- 
temperately, as they departed. 

“ You very wrong, massa, to be swear- 
ing, and hurting your soul so, after your 
narrow escape,” said Cato. 

Col. Conway having ordered his servant 
to take the sick man to the house, whistled 
to one of his dogs, and was about riding 
off* without saying whither he was going. 

“ I know it, uncle, I know it is wrong. 
Lord have mercy on me ! What will my 
poor wife and children do now, that I am 
crippled ! Oh ! I’m so unlucky and all too 
in defence of the king. I ’m a dead man, 
help! help. Colonel! Come back, Colonel !” 

The wounded man was almost fainting, 
having raised himself up. Col. Conway 
started Cato back after a cart, for the pur- 
pose of hauling him to his house, whilst he 
examined the direction Julian had taken, 
to see if any traces of blood were left; 
after an inefectual search, he returned to 
assist Cato, who, in the mean while had re- 
turned, bringing his good friend, Mr. Tid- 
der, with him ; who, having somewhat so- 
bered down, came mounted on his pony, 
determined to prosecute his journey, and 
ascertain the fate of his friend, who had so 
unceremoniously left him. 

Tim wore a most doleful face, and came 
prepared to carry out all the externals of 
maudlin sorrow. 


“ The poor man is dead, uncle Cato ; I 
feel like he is, for he lies mighty still ; and 
the Colonel, there, looks cast down.” This 
he said, as he slowly crawled from his ill- 
starred pony. Then walking in a slow 
gait, with his head down, he came up to 
McQuirk. 

“ May the Lord have mercy on us ; this 
is my old friend, McQuirk, the greatest 
horse thief living upon the face of clay; 
poor fellow ! I suppose, Colonel, you saw 
him breathe his last breath; did he pray 
any 1 he was a monstrous wicked man, I 
can^tell you ; yes, he fvas given to the tak- 
ing of horses, and occasionally a negro or 
so, at a time ; otherwise, he was a kind 
hearted man.” 

“ I beg ten thousand pardons. Colonel, I 
meant no offence, and if you had ’nt shak’d 
your head, I would have supposed him per- 
fectly defuncted.” 

Amidst the lamentations of McQuirk, 
and the piteous expressions, and officious 
efforts of Tidder, the wounded man was 
placed in the cart. 

Previous to his departure, Tidder took a 
most affecitionate leave of his sincere friend 
Cato, who whispered in his ear that there 
would be a big dinner in a few days at 
their house, and gave him a pressing invita- 
tion. 

“ I will come if I can, Cato; but the fact 
is, your master has just rode off without 
giving me the least hint of it, and I don’t 
much like to be making myself plenty and 
cheap, both, where I am not wanting.” 

“ Never mind that, his mind is disturbed, 
I see he has taken his track dog with him ; 
he is in trouble, and God bless you and 
help you on your journey ” 

“I will soon get back to Col. Clanna- 
gan’s camp, and inform him of the news, 
which is monstrous strange,” - exclaimed 
the little guide, as he galloped off down the 
road. 


CHAPTER XV. 

’Tis drawn, I assure yon, from the Aphorisms 
Of the old Chaldeans ; Zoroastes the lirst and greatest 
Magician; Mercurius; Trismegistus, the later Plolemj"-, 
And the everlasting prognosticator, old erra Pater. 

[Massinger’s City Madam. 

A suitable room was arranged, and Mc- 
Quirk carefully put to bed at Col. Conway’s. 
Cato very officiously rubbed his bruises 
with spirits of turpentine, which caused 
a deal of complaint and restlessness ; but 
the black surgeon consoled him by telling 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


63 


him it was a good sign, and proved that he 
was not so far gone as not to feel. It be 
good sign, massa, for the medisin to strike 
in ; it sure to kill all do pain ; but be still 
and try to sleep awhile,” added Cato, as he 
left the room to seek his better half. 

“ So, Prudence Con\\^, our good friend, 
big, fighting, little Timmy is gone, God 
bless him! I’se invited him back to the 
dinner.” 

“ Now, Cato Walden, you ’ ve been wrong 
in that ; you know what a fuss is raised a 
ready, ’bout his tantrums in the big house, 
and then if he should forget himself again 
’mongst his good friends we’ll be blamed 
about it you know.” 

“ Never mind that, old woman, leave it 
all to me ; I think I know that man in the 
house, and he is no gentleman ; and friend 
Tidder hinted as much this morning. If 
he is the same fellow I think of, he tried to 
bribe me about fifteen years ago, at the big 
race, in Norfolk, when I went with Cajah 
Walden, it was a time when I toated too 
much hard silver, and was too honest to 
boot, to let such a fellow trick me, I could 
scarce keep my hands off of the roguey 
black rascal.” 

“ Come, Walden, you ’d better mind how 
you talk ; your sauciness and jaw will car- 
ry you to the gallows yet, specially, as I ’se 
seen more spicious looking men lately, than 
I did in all my born days before ; and I tell 
you, I don’t like the fuss this morning, and 
all the long faces neither, and Miss Cathe- 
na, poor thing, looks mighty solemn and 
down looking. I fear she is sick at heart. 

“Pshaw! pshaw! Prudence Conway, 
you losing what little sense you have, since 
you’ve seen our friend Tidder ; you believe 
Cathena will have any such upstarts as we 
see now a-daysl no, never ! None but a 
gentleman from old England, or old Fir- 
ginny, will ever get her, mind what I tell 
you ; and I ’ll be bound you ’ll see the law- 
yers, and doctors, and merchants flocking 
here in droves, to court her, when the wars 
get sorter over.” 

Cato was interrupted by a sharp halloo 
at the gate, and the furious outcry of his 
pack of hounds and dogs. But a crack of 
his whip soon put them to silence. 

“ Son of Ham, where is the worthy 
owner of this mansion! is he at home !” 

“No sir, he is gone for a few hours.” 

“ Yes ! ever thus ! out on trifling mat- 
ters, not once in a dozen times can I find 
the owners of houses at home, and if I do, 
they are busily employed chasing some idle 
phantom ! Is the good lady at home then, 
sir!” 


“ Yes, have you any business with her !” 
asked Cato, not altogether pleased with the 
manner of his new visitor, who was no 
other than Geoffrey Jarvis. 

“Something will be in the way here 
too,” muttered the mineralogist ; “ the 
troubles of the country, the novelty of the 
plan, or the base cupidity of the family, 
but I am determined to make one more ef- 
fort on the Waldens.” 

“Do you know the Waldens, then, sir!” 
asked Cato, interrupting the audible solilo- 
quy of the mineralogist, as he entered the 
gateway. 

“ Know them ! is the sun hot in summer ! 
will the adder strike !” 

“ You know ’em, massa, I see you know 
all of them ! but then they constant friend 
too, when they like you.” 

Cato having guarded the new visitor to 
the door, and seated him in the hall, went 
to his mistress, and requested her to attend 
the summons of the mineralogist. 

“Your most obedient, madam,” said the 
mineralogist, rising suddenly, and advanc- 
ing to meet Mrs. Conway, “ I am glad once 
more to be in the presence of a descendant 
of Warwick Walden, the glorious gentle- 
man, and man of courage ; patron of the 
worthy and enterprising ; a lover of the 
fine arts ; though I grieve to say it, not so 
well affected to religious subjects, as his 
great good sense should have directed him ; 
Madam, are you not Mrs. Conway, daugh- 
ter of my ancient friend and patron, War- 
wick Walden, Esq, !” 

“ I am, sir, said Mrs. Conway, attempt- 
ing to penetrate the designs, as well as to 
recollect the acquaintance of her father. 
“ Be seated, sir, and let me assure you, that 
a friend of my father is, and shall always 
be, welcome at my house.” 

“ Madam, I know it, I can see the most 
striking likeness of your parents. Oh ! 
the memory of your pious mother is like 
the blue heavens after a long and furious 
storm ; long, long shall her deeds and her 
examples flourish, to cheer the desponding 
and guide the weak; but for her counsels, 
I might have been a son of Belial, an un- 
believer.” 

McQuirk, who was in a state of mind 
bordering on frenzy, bloody, half undress- 
ed, with a haggard countenance, hearing 
the loud voice of the mineralogist, had 
staggered to the hall door, and catching his 
last words, exclaimed : 

“ Yes, I am a son of Benjamin McQuirk, 
but he was not an unbeliever ! Oh ! send 
for a minister. Oh ! my poor wicked soul ; 


64 


ONSLOW, 


I’m lost forever, send for Dr. String Halt, 
I ’m dying ! I ’m gone !” 

Unable to stand, from fainting, he fell 
prostrate, and apparently lifeless, on the 
floor. The whole family soon gathered to 
the scene of confusion, and Miss Jemima 
Peabody came up in time to get a sufficient 
fright to cause her to swoon, ere they could 
remove him. Mrs. Conway and Cathena, 
with one or two servants, assisted her to 
her bed ; whilst Cato and the mineralogist 
half dragged the fainting man to his room.” 

“ I ’ve seen the day,” said Cato, “ when 
I could have lifted him to my shoulders 
like a child, but I ’m getting crazy.” 

“ I could do it now,” said the mineralo- 
gist, “ but I don’t care to trouble myself 
with such a lump of iniquity ; this is a 
mere death-bed repentance, or the ravings 
of the animal; mere habit, language he 
used when dead drunk. But sinner as he 
was, he’s gone to his long home, full of mis- 
deeds and wickedness.” 

“ Yes, massa, he were a very wicked 
man, for he try to bribe me once ; and I 
hear him cursejvverry hard to-day, and he ’s 
been trying to murder a werry nice young 
man,” replied Cato. 

“ Who was the young manl” demanded 
Jarvis. 

“ I don’t know his name, but the white 
people know him; he’s a fierce looking 
youth, any how.” 

The mineralogist suddenly walked into 
the room where Miss Peabody lay, pale 
and apparently motionless, whilst her at- 
tendants were applying salts and liquids to 
her face and temples, and rubbing her 
hands. 

“ Apply burnt feathers, or burnt leather, 
madam,” said the mineralogist, “ they are 
the most ready promoters of the circulation 
in all cases of the kind. My poor mother 
was much given to vapors, swoons and be- 
witchments, and nothing was so potential 
in their abatement.” 

A little negro was despatched to gather 
up the prescription so earnestly recom- 
mended. 

“ But, madam, excuse me for venturing 
in the room uninvited ; I come to learn the 
name of the young man who paid you a 
visit this morning 1” 

“ I believe, sir, it is Julian Onslow, and 
I much fear that some harm has befallen 
him.” 

“Know you his visage 1” continued the 
mineralogist, apparently perplexed. 

“ I did not see him myself ; my daughter 
has seen him, and perhaps can describe him 
to you.” 


Cathena was too deeply interested in the 
fate of Miss Peabody, to notice the refer- 
ence made to her, on the subject of the 
young stranger. The sick body recovered 
time enough to escape the fumes of the 
feathers, for as they were brought in smok- 
ing and ready for application, she request- 
ed that the room should be cleared of all 
persons, except Mrs. Conway, or a nurse. 
“ Let me sleep a little ; let me have a little 
fresh air ; the room is stifled with tobacco 
smoke, or something, which takes away ray 
breath.” 

The lady was left to recover from her 
swoon, whilst the mineralogist requested 
Mrs. Conway to ask her daughter, to give 
him the pleasure of hearing something of 
the young stranger, “unless, perad venture, 
I may be trespassing upon the secrets of 
the young couple. In that event, madam,” 
said the mineralogist, with a profound bow, 
“ I must forego my great anxiety to learn 
something of this stranger, for I much mis- 
take my recollection, if he be not the same 
at the rencontre of the frog pond, between 
Cold fire and the rogues.” 

Cathena having made her appearance, 
and taking her seat beside her mother, re- 
plied to the questions of the mineralogist, 
as follows : 

Min. “ Is he a comely youth, of full sta- 
ture, and good proportions.” 

Ans. “ I think, sir, he is a tall, well look- 
ing gentleman.” 

Min. “ Has he the apish fashion of 
laughter 1” 

Ans. “ I never saw him laugh, sir ; 
though he may have done so.” 

“Aye,” said the mineralogist, “those 
that laugh shall mourn, and the light scoff 
and the joyous sound of mirthfulness shall 
be meted back with interest, of sorrow and 
wo; smile not, maiden, as at a fool; smile 
not at the words of one, who is looked upon 
with the proud eye, and the s<^ornful brow. 
I read sorrow, yet, in thy destiny; the blue 
veins of thy forehead and eyes, show that 
thy lot is not free from the curse of thy 
first parents.” 

“ I beg your pardon, sir, I meant no dis- 
respect to you, I assure you,” said Cathena, 
turning pale at the almost prophetic words 
of the mineralogist, and feeling as if he 
spoke the oft forebodings of her own feel- 
ings. Few there are, who have not heard 
the chill and melancholy whisperings of 
evil; who feel that there is laid up in 
store in the unwindings of the scroll of life, 
dark and portentous maledictions; who, 
alas! has not felt his blood freeze, as an 
invisible hand grasped him ; and whispered 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


65 


tliat he had sinned ; or that the gorgon ter- 
rors would wring his soul ; it matters not 
that the mind cannot comprehend the cause, 
or the consequence ; the floating and in- 
comprehensible possibility is not the less 
appalling, because it cannot be seen, or felt. 
What marvel, then, if the young and sensi- 
tive girl felt awed and alarmed at the words 
of the mineralogist ! 

“ Do not be frightened, my daughter,” 
said Mrs. Conway. “The old gentleman 
is only a little piqued at you, for laughing ; 
it is some foolish conjuration or legend he 
has picked up in his rambles; talk with him 
kindly, and he will be pacified.” 

The mineralogist had commenced pacing 
the room, apparently unconscious of the at- 
tempted apology of Miss Conway, or of the 
observations of her mother, and muttering 
the words of the poet — 

“ Weave the warp and weave the woof, 

The winding sheet of {Wcddeii^s) race, 
Give ample space and room enough, 

The characters of Hell to trace.” 

“ You appear to be fond of poetry, sir,” 
said Mrs. Conway, catching the sounds, 
but unable to trace the chain of thoughts 
which had brought them up in his mind. 

“ Poetry, madam,” replied the mineralo- 
gist, “ helps the memory to retain ideas ; 
it is to prose what fine clothes are to the 
’body; sometimes too, it condenses; but 
alas, the ribaldry and jests, the scoffs that 
flow from poetry. It is the curse of the 
age; every simpleton now-a-days must 
hum his camp song ; I have no use for po- 
etry, unless it be a pious hymn, or a de- 
nunciation against the follies and vices of 
the age ; but the Bible is the source of the 
most sublime poetry, and of the most caus- 
tic and condemnatory language ; aye ! and 
all shall be fulfilled to the utmost tittle, 
mark that; but,” continued the speaker, 
“ my name, madam, is identified with the 
destiny of your house, and whether for evil 
or good, the stars have not yet disclosed ; I 
have watched them after the most approved 
fashion of the best astrologers. I have 
prayed and fasted, and as yet I have not 
fully ascertained the issue ; much will de- 
pend upon the course of yourself and hus- 
band ; your brother is irrevocably lost ; there 
is no help for him in this, or the world to 
come. ‘ But sufficient unto the day is the 
evil thereof;’ my name is Geoffry Jarvis, 
mineralogist.” 

“ Is it possible, that you are the young 
man, who used to preach in our neighbor- 
hood, when I was scarcely grown 1 I should 
never have recalled you,” said Mrs. Con- 


way, going up to her guest and shaking 
his hand. 

“ Ah, my good lady, the great innovator, 
Time, has been busy with my frame, but 
thank God, I can see yet without specta- 
cles and can stand fatigue ; my race is not 
yet run ; I am the chosen instrument of 
good to such as will hear my counsels ; but 
a perverse generation has so far frustrated 
all rny plans and schemes ; my last hope is 
in you and your v/orthy husband.” 

Here, the mineralogist suddenly drew 
out his specimens of minerals, and his 
drawings, and explained at great length 
his schemes and his projects. 

But Cato interrupted his conversation, 
by stating, that he believed that the man 
in the other room was raving mad. 

“ He ’s about to die in his sins, missus, 
I ’m certain, for he ’s mighty frensy.” 

Mrs. Conway besought .Tarvis to go in, 
and if he thought it advisable to bleed him,” 
adding, “ for I’m too much shocked with 
his appearance to be of any service to 
hiin.” 

“ Come in, Cato, come in, doctor or 
minister, or whatever you are,” cried the 
patient ; “ here’s work for soul and body. 
God bless you, gentlemen — do something 
for me, or I’m a dead man to a dead cer- 
tainty — aint I, aint I, uncle Cato V’ 

“ You ought to been prepared for this,” 
said Cato, as he stood cautiously looking 
on ; “a long and wicked life and a few 
short prayers when you can’t help yourself, 
aint worth much in the sight of your 
Maker on a dying bed.” 

“Were you at the great race, Cato, in 
Norfolk, when Fleet-foot ran against Long- 
wind 1” asked McQuirk, suddenly ceasing 
to moan. 

“ The wery same, sir, and I had my feel- 
ings wery much wounded by a gentleman 
who tried to bribe me, to tie a wire round 
one of the horses’ feet, and to give him 
pizen, or something like it — he offered me 
fifty dollars in ready silver.” 

“ Oh, Cato, I’m dying ! I’m on my last 
death-bed, at least — good doctor, tell me 
what to dol must I confess the truth 1 
I know I did try to bribe you, Cato, but 
I’m sorry for it; I’m repenting asTast as I 
can — feel of my feet, they are cold as ice — 
give me brandy — something to warm me — 
I’m dead, dead.” 

“A pretty sight this,” said the mineralo- 
gist; “the caitiff dies as he has lived — a 
coward — I see no hopes for him here, or 
hereafter ; his day of grace is no doubt past, 
and he is foredoomed to everlasting perdi- 
tion~he has a red and fiery eye, fiend-like 


66 


ONSLOW, 


— he has a deceitful, haggard countenance ; 
but still his pulse is strong — hand me a 
ligature, I’ll bleed him.” 

The mineralogist had a heavy hand, and 
he brought it to bear upon his patient, for 
at the time of his attempt to bleed, the pa- 
tient began to rave and scuffle, and the mi- 
neralogist being determined to get blood, 
made a tremendous orifice. The blood 
flew in every direction ; the room looked 
like a slaughter-pen. The patient attempt- 
ed to rise, but fell down in a swoon, all 
was alarm and confusion. Cato exclaimed — 

“ He will bleed to death, doctor ! I tell 
you he ’s mighty nigh gone.” 

The mineralogist alone of all (for several 
of the household had run in) was not dis- 
mayed. He stopped the blood and bound 
up the arm, saying, “ if his time is come 
it will be useless to do any thing for him ; 
and the sooner he gets out of his misery 
the better. I may have bled him too much ; 
but it will only smooth the avenues of 
death and hasten the exit.” 

The mineralogist, having delivered his 
opinions, called for pen and ink, and com- 
menced filling up his journal with the past 
incidents of the few last days, saying to 
Mrs. Conway, “ there are some things in 
these lids which will be eventually given 
to the public ; I have already had many 
efforts to get them from me ; some wish to 
peruse them, others to pilfer, but I will 
gratify none of them, even if it were to 
save their necks from the halter.” 

“ How is the lady who was unwell from 
fright 1” asked the mineralogist of Cathena, 
who came into the room. 

“She has entirely recovered, sir,” an- 
swered Cathena. 

“ Has thy father a son or sons ?” 

“ I have an only brother, now at my un- 
cle Micajah Walden’s.” 

The mineralogist paced the room for a 
few minutes, compressing his lips as if re- 
straining an effort to make some harsh ob- 
servation — at length he said, in a tone of 
anguish, 

“ Alas ! alas ! was the youth I saw at 
his house thy brother 1 He was comely and 
well behaved — I yearned over him ; my 
curse is on the household; yet I repented 
of it on his account. I sought the aspect 
of the heavenly bodies diligently and ear- 
nestly on his account.” 

“ Do, tell me, sir, were the stars propi- 
tious'? did they indicate misfortune or suc- 
cess 1 do you believe in astrology V’ asked 
Cathena, half in jest. 

“ Aye, I believe in the occult and sub- 
lime science. But it is not meet that I 


should, in these days of unbelief, subject 
myself to the scoffs of the ignorant and 
wicked ; nor can I answer thy questions as 
to the fate of thy brother; there must be 
more time .fi>r the conjunction of the stars. 
Alas!” said the mineralogist, “I liked not 
the aspect that I saw, but peradventure I 
may not have seen the sidus natalitium, 
the natal star.” 

“ I hope,” said Cathena, with emphasis, 
“ that no evil will befall Edward — I hope 
that he who rules the stars will protect 
him,” turning to her mother, and also to 
Miss Peabody, who had come in time 
enough to hear the conversation. 

“But if he be in Sodom when the ter- 
rible tempest shall fall — think of that, 
madam,” said the mineralogist, looking 
earnestly at the book which he held. 

“ Madam, can you tell me the day and 
the hour when your son was born asked 
the mineralogist of Mrs. Conway. 

On the 29th day of July, 1762, at twelve 
o’clock, and he will soon he eighteen years 
of age ; Cathena is precisely to a day two 
years younger than Edward.” 

“ But the hour of birth, madam asked 
the mineralogist, unconscious of the con- 
temptuous toss of the head which Miss Pea- 
body gave as she looked at Mrs. Conway, 
and whispered, “ Impudent vagabond to in- 
quire into the very hour a young lady was 
born I he shocks my delicacy beyond all 
endurance.” 

“ The precise hour, madam, if you 
please 1 it is actually necessary that I may 
properly cast my Horoscope, and that I 
may be able to tell which star was in the 
ascendant, and under what attribute she 
was born.” 

“ I do not exactly recollect,” replied Mrs. 
Conway, “ but I think it was one or two 
o’clock at night.” 

“ And do you have the presumption to 
believe in the exploded and absurd doctrines 
of astrology "1 What says Isaiah on the 
subject!” asked Miss Peadody, no longer 
able to restrain her indignation against the 
mineralogist. 

“ What saith the Prophet, you ask ! I 
will tell thee — ‘ let now the astrologers, the 
star-gazers, the progposticators stand up, 
and save thee from those things that shall 
come upon thee.’ ” 

“ But you have not quoted the beginning, 
nor ending of the denunciation. Have you 
the profanity to attempt to use the sacred 
writings to sustain such absurd supersti- 
tions '? I will not remain to hear your blas- 
phemies — I will tell you,” continued Miss 
Peabody, as she was about leaving the 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


67 


room, “your doom from the very same 
Prophet, ‘ behold they shall be as stubble, 
the fire shall burn them, they shall not de- 
liver themselves from the power of the 
flame.’” 

“ Go thy way, vain in thy attainments 
and quick in thy conclusions; for,” con- 
tinued the mineralogist, “ I perceive that 
experience hath been lost on thee. Yes, I 
admit,” he continued, “that all the sorcer- 
ers and magicians shall be destroyed ; but, 
my good lady, those were such as paid no 
regard to the true religion ; shall all wis- 
dom be eschewed because evil has come of 
it 1 shall the sublime discoveries of the as- 
tronomers, of the physicians, and of the 
alchymists, be rejected, because falsehoods 
and deceptions have been mixed up with 
their systems'? I trow not, madam. But,” con- 
tinued the mineralogist, “the greatest sci- 
ence of all, is that of mineralogy, that 
which brings the most benefits to mankind, 
which furnishes the sinews of war, called 
money ; and that which is called the ulti- 
ma ratio regum , — the inscription of Louis 
the Fourteenth on his cannon — the cannon 
itselfy 

“ I should like,” said Mrs. Conway, “to 
hear the prediction which the stars foretell 
of the fates of my son and daughter ; al- 
tliough I profess to be entirely ignorant of 
the science, yet there is something sublime 
and fascinating in it ; and so many emi- 
nent philosophers have believed in it, and 
some too, eminent for their morality, that 
I cannot condemn those who may be im- 
bued with its belief.” 

“ You speak as your noble father would 
have spoken. Was not the great poet, 
John Dryden, deeply versed in the science 1 
not to instance others. But I must not 
fully determine the nativities yet. It has 
been so long since I have practiced, that I 
cannot, with certainty, enter on the sub- 
lime contemplation. But from a glance or 
two I have made at my calculations, I fear 
your son has perils and discomfitures 
ahead ; but I must not be the bearer of bad 
forebodings to you. But the young man, 
your brother,” continued the mineralogist, 
turning to Cathena, who was listening in- 
^ tently to that part of the discourse which 
related to astrology, “ how is he disposed 
towards the King V’ 

“ I believe,” answered Cathena, “ he is 
against him.” 

“ Indeed ! then I must exert my skill the 
more, for Walden is thus inclined, and they 
should not think alike. One word and I 
have done — danced hp at the ball at 


Charleston at the gathering of the revel- 
lers and revilers 

“ I believe he did,” answered Cathena.” 

“ Alas ! for the foibles and lightness of 
the age. Madam,” said the mineralogist to 
Mrs. Conway, “ there are matters which 
I cannot now relate, highly important 
to you and to your family ; how they are to 
end, as I before stated, has not yet been 
fully revealed ; much depends upon my 
success in the enterprise, which I will dis- 
close to you and your good husband to- 
gether, when he returns.” 

The mineralogist, as was his custom, 
drew out his journal and commenced writ- 
ing — having finished, he called for his 
horse, adding, as he departed, “prepare 
thy husband for the great enterprise, and 
persuade him to seek me at once, or make 
up his mind by the time 1 call again.” 

No entreaty to wait for Col. Conway’s 
return, and no request to remain and watch 
the malady of the sick man, could prevail 
on him to stay longer. He departed in a 
slow and solemn pace, without asking any 
questions as to his route, or leaving any 
indication as to the time of his probable re- 
turn, or where he could be fourid. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

You shall first know him, then admire him 

For a man of many parts, and those parts rare ones. 

an absolute master 

In the calculation of nativities. 

Guided by that ne’er-erring science called 
Judicial Astrology. — The City Madam. 

Col. Conway, after despatching Cato 
home with McQuirk, with a good deal of 
caution, had watched the direction which 
the two Tories had taken, for he had no dis- 
position to encounter them again — left to 
his own reflection after the late incidents 
of the night and morning, he became ex- 
extremely anxious to see the young soldier 
who had so abruptly left his house. Taking, 
therefore, the precaution to take- with him 
a faithful and manageable dog, he deter- 
mined to try to track him up, and to 
render him whatever assistance he might 
need. His fears also hinted to him, that he 
had been imprudent in his course towards 
the demands made on his purse. He had pro- 
ceeded some distance, and had entered a 
small unfrequented bye-path, which led 
through a damp, thick-set swamp, when 
his hound showed signs of a trail ; he en- 
couraged him repeatedly, at the same time 


68 


ONSLOW, 


g’iving him the word of command, which 
prevented him from leaving him. After he 
had nearly escaped from the swamp, the 
deep-mouthed dog made the woods ring as 
he dashed furiously on, followed by Col. 
Conway. On a sudden the hound ceased, 
and a low, shrill voice exclaimed, 

“ See now, Mr. Huntsman, how I have 
you if I had your gun. War you with 
musket and trailers upon a poor outcast wo- 
man! Which way goest thou with thy 
steed and gun, and wide-mouthed yellers ! 
Get you home and guard your family. Get 
you home, for there is mischief abroad. 
Get you back, for I know you, and there is 
evil meant you. Cross not the path of one 
v/ho harms you not.” 

This ominous language was well calcu- 
lated at such a period to rouse the atten- 
tion of a bolder and more daring man than 
Col. Conway. He looked for a moment in 
every direction ; he at last espied the form 
of a woman perched in the limbs of a tree, 
nearly covered with its boughs. “Who 
are you, and what are you doing in this 
wild, unfrequented way !” 

“ Well may you .ask such questions, and 
well mayest thou answer them, as if asked 
of thyself Have you forgotten who was 
your wife’s companion ? who was thy bro^ 
ther’s nurse ! Aye, Arthur Conway, who 
swaddled thee ! It was my mother.” 

“ I know you not, good woman ; I have 
not the least recollection of you,” answered 
Conway. 

“ Pass on then in thy pride and igno- 
rance ! What care I for you or your house- 
hold ! Pass on with thy dog and gun, and 
cease to pursue the footsteps of one thou 
knowest not, and one who will not know 
thee — let me pursue my own business, it 
is urgent ; but you will know others, perad- 
venture ; those who may be now thy sworn 
friends in the gall of bitterness, and in 
wailings of distress, too soon, I fear.” 

“ Good woman, talk not thus. I meant 
no affront when I told you I did not recol- 
lect you. I am sure I should like to see, 
at all times, one who knew my family, or 
who was a companion of my wife in her 
girlhood.” 

At this kind assurance, the woman 
scrambled down hastily, and walked up to 
Colonel Conway, who had moved into an 
open space. 

A rather tall and athletic figure stood 
before him, dressed in a half civilized cos- 
tume ; the head was more after the fashion 
of the savages than of the whites; her 
dress was in the common style, with an 
embroidered wrapper over it; whilst her 


feet were covered witli a kind of soft boots, 
richly decorated with beads of different 
colors, extending up the ankles. She ap- 
peared about forty years of age, with a 
wild and sparkling dark brown eye, and a 
stern set of features. Her dress, her cast 
of countenance, lofty and determined ap- 
pearance, with her sun-burnt and exposed 
features, gave the appearance of one of the 
best models of the Indian woman. Added 
to her ear rings, bracelets, and other orna- 
ments, was a large ornamented dagger, 
which was partly exposed from her girdle. 
After pausing awhile, with evident marks 
of great excitement, she exclaimed — 

“ And thou, too, hast forgotten me ! 
Would to God that I could forget ! Yea ! 
treachery, falsehood, pride, remorse ! But 
I lose time ! Know, then, that I am Edir 
Immerson !” 

A cold chill ran over Colonel Conway, 
as she announced her name. 

“ Edir Immerson !” he exclaimed. “ It 
is impossible — still I can trace some re- 
semblance to her features in your face. 
Go with me home, and unfold this strange 
meeting. Why this Indian dress ! where 
have you lived !” 

“ I cannot go with you — I will not tell 
you why I am a wanderer. I have mat- 
ters of deeper concern to you than the idle 
history of my dark and miserable life ; and 
it is well that I have met you. It is well 
thou hast spoken kindly to me, for there 
might liave come wailing and gnashing of 
teeth on thy threshold, but I will avert it 
if these limbs fail me not. I must turn the 
wolf from the lamb. Good-bye, and God 
be your guard, and thank Him that his 
providence has sent you across my path !” 

Without even shaking hands, or looking 
behind her, this strange and singular wo- 
man turned and strode off in a rapid walk. 
Conway called to her to stop and explain, 
but no motion in her gait showed that she 
paid the least attention to his calls. 

Conway gave up the chase after Julian, 
too much bewildered by his interview with 
one he thought long since dead. Her lan- 
guage and appearance were also a source 
of uneasiness; at times he would couple 
this adventure with those of the two Tories. 
“Is it possible she is from the Indians'? 
Can they meditate an attack at this dis- 
tance upon the white settlements '! Is she 
in league with Julian and the two parti- 
san officers'?” Such were the questions 
which Conway asked himself as he bent 
his course homewards. Bitter and per- 
plexing thoughts crossed his mind, and not 
the least galling one was the unexpected 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


69 


and treacherous call upon the inhabitants 
to take up arms for the king. 

“ The plot thickens upon me — my neu- 
trality avails me but little — demands for 
money from relations and friends — inso- 
lence and exactions from low bred Tories ; 
and not the least strange, mystical allu- 
sions and threatened mischief.” 

On Conway’s arrival home he was met 
by his wife, in rather a desponding mood ; 
the events of the day were well calculated 
to cast a gloom over one less feminine. 
She. told of the alarm which McQuirk had 
caused, and related also the dark hints of 
the mineralogist. 

“ God only knows what is to happen,” 
said Conway; “I, too, have met with a 
prophetess of evil — one, too, who claims an 
acquaintance with you — Edir Immerson.” 

“ Oh, that is a mistake — some vagabond 
who wished to impose on your known 
good nature. No, it could not have been 
her, for she has long since been dead, and 
furthermore, she would never have passed 
me.” 

Mrs. Conway urged her husband to ex- 
amine into the schemes of the mineralo- 
gist — “for it strikes me that he knows 
where there are great treasures or mines 
of metal. I believe that he can be of ser- 
vice also in controlling persons who may 
wish us harm; at all events, it will be 
well not to discourage him for the present, 
if you can meet with him.” 

Colonel Conway was not sufficiently 
convinced of the feasibility of his wife’s 
suggestion to acquiesce, nor was he in a fit 
mood to deny her conclusions ; fortunately, 
the arrival of Dr. String Halt, who had 
been sent for to see McQuirk, afforded for 
the time being an opportunity to escape 
from an avowal of his opinions upon the 
proposed project. 

Dr. String Halt, after the usual saluta- 
tions, hearing of the proceedings in the 
case of the sick man, went in to see him. 
He found him m a comatose state, though 
with a soft slow pulse and a moist skin. 

“ A blister and the puccoon root will 
bring the fellow out,” said the doctor, 
after a careful examination of the pulse. 
Having made the necessary prescription, 
he and the Colopel returned into the par- 
lor. 

Conway proceeded to give a minute ac- 
count of the events of the night and day. 
After he had ended. Dr. String Halt de- 
clared that he believed there was a sys- 
tematic plan on foot amongst the regula- 
tors, Tories, and lower class of Whigs, 
to put all law and equity at defiance. 

6 


“ For,” said he, “ as to the talc of Edir 
Immerson, I believe the whole of it to be a 
mere fabrication of some strolling gipsy, to 
impose on your credulity, and to pass off 
some scheme of mischief. That such will 
be the case, I have but little doubt will be 
shown by acts of villany in a few days — 
for I have heard more discontent and cla- 
mor against the king’s officers and their 
arbitrary measures recently, than I have 
since the beginning of the war. You may 
look out for more rank rebellion in a few 
months than you have heard of for years. 
Those who have remained neutral, or who 
have refrained from taking up arms against 
their fellow- citizens from fear of losses, or 
disinclination to the cause of the king, will 
not now consent, when his authority is 
established, to jeopard their necks, or in- 
cur the odium of their countrymen, merely 
to gratify the vindictive feelings of unbridled 
and arbitrary power ; and stanch as I have 
been for the success of the royal cause, I 
for one will, if compelled to fight at all, 
side with those who may be oppressed, and 
assist to rid the country of those who wish 
to rule and plunder us.” 

This language startled Conway, easily 
moved by the most ordinary arguments for 
the time being, and ready as he was gene- 
rally to give his assent in ordinary mat- 
ters ; yet he felt no disposition to commit 
himself upon so delicate and absorbing a 
question ; he felt the full force of the argu- 
ments of String Halt, and on any other 
subject would have cheerfully acquiesced 
in his opinions ; but he was anxious not to 
compromit himself, and turned the conver- 
sation by calling in Cato. 

“ What do you know, Cato, about Edir 
Immerson 1” 

“ What do I know, massa, ’bout her — let 
me see, sir.” 

Cato threw back his head, and looked 
back into the past as far as the best chro- 
nologist could have done. 

“I well remember, massa, ’bout dem 
times.” 

“ Come, Cato,” said the Colonel, “ drop 
the new negro lingo, and give us the king’s 
English.” 

“ Come to the point at once, Cato,” said 
Doctor String Halt, “ for I have a patient 
to see. But, Colonel, have you heard of 
the death of Colonel Grayson 1” 

“ Colonel Grayson dead !” exclaimed 
Colonel Conway; “certainly he was not 
murdered by any of the Whigs, or enemies 
of good order .!?’ 

“ No, sir — he died from causes natural 
enough — a neglected and half cured dropsy 


70 


ONSLOW, 


of the chest, patched up by every straggling 
mountebank or old woman that chose to pre- 
scribe, and, as usual, I was called in at the 
death — and, as usual, wrote his obituary. 
But go on, Cato,” said the doctor, dismiss- 
ing the subject of Colonel Grayson’s death, 
and his obituary. 

“ But, doctor,” said the Colonel, “ was 
he ever decided in his political course after 
his exchange 1” 

“As long as he was able to take the 
field. He and your stout hearted brother- 
in-law made friends before he expired.” 

“Strange, indeed! Micajah Walden 
seldom forgives an enemy. I much fear 
that his inexorable temper will be infused 
into Edward ; at least, I fear,” continued 
the Colonel, somewhat modifying his lan- 
guage, “ that Edward has a disposition a 
good deal like that of his uncle, and to get 
Edward from him is a difficult task ; he 
has such a control over him, and seems 
withal so forlorn without him, that I can- 
not summon courage to order him to leave 
his uncle.” 

“Better let the boy stay, massa. His 
uncle will make a soldier of him, and a 
good one to boot, I warrant you I” said 
Cato. 

“ Well, Cato,” said the doctor, “ would 
you know Edir Immerson nowl Your 
master says he saw and conversed with 
her to-day.” 

“Good Lord have mercy on us!” ex- 
claimed Cato. “ Why, Edir Immerson has 
been'! dead fifteen or twenty years! No, 
doctor, it was her spirit, come back to 
complain of some bad treatment. I tell 
you, master, you wont live long; you’ve 
seen a strange sight. But, doctor, you 
are joking with me.” 

But Colonel' Conway assured Cato that 
ha had seen the veritable Edir. 

Prudence, who was in the house when 
he went out, accosted him as follows — 

“Now, Cato Walden, in the name of 
every thing that’s good and bad, why did 
you overburden your soul with such dan- 
gerous talk 1 Get a horse-shoe, and nail it 
over our door, and get Miss Jemima to 
read us some of the Scriptures, or we will 
be haunted to death ; and you have offend- 
ed mistress, for she asked me what you all 
wms about, and she says she don’t believe 
a word of it. Cato VValden, there will be 
evil on this house ; that other poor sinner 
will die to-night, and he’ll haunt us !” 

“No danger dat,” said Cato, still musing 
on the affair of Edir Immerson, “no dan- 
ger of dat. If he go where I tink he will, 
I ’ll be bound they keep him fast enough — 


he a berry wicked man, indeed — I tell you 
for once and all. Prudence Conway ! But 
I don’t understand so well about this ghost 
master saw to-day, for, to tell the truth, he 
is middling scarry himself!” 

The doctor, having examined his pa- 
tient, and finding that he was doing well, 
took leave of the family, promising to re- 
turn in a day or so, directing Colonel Con- 
way, in the mean while, if the symptoms 
became worse to let him know it. 

Colonel Conway and his wife then re- 
hearsed over their several adventures dur- 
ing the day to each other, and, as usual 
when there ife uncertainty, arrived at no 
conclusions. The proposals of the miner- 
alogist, his hints and threats, became more 
and more perplexing to Mrs. Conway, and 
she had the singular faculty of imparting, 
in an eminent degree, all her fears and 
doubts to the bosom of her husband. Fur- 
ther delay, however, as usual on the part 
of the husband, was proposed, before he 
took any decisive steps, either as regarded 
the mineralogist, or the summons of the 
royal commissioners to enrol under the 
banner of the king. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

Methinks I feel this youth’s perfections 
With an invisible and subtle stealth, 

To creep in at mine eyes. Twelfth Night. 

I had gay hopes, too — 

What needs the mention, they are vanished. 

Cornwall. 

The redoubtable friend of Cato, Captain 
Tidder, finding that Julian was gone, and 
that he had wearied out the patience of 
Mrs. Conway, (for his kind hostess. Pru- 
dence, had given him a discreet hint to 
that effect,) determined to pursue his course 
back to the camp of Clannagan, arid meet- 
ing with Cato, as has already been noticed, 
had learned some of the particulars of the 
rencontre between Julian and the parti- 
sans of the bloody scout. There was in 
the affair precisely, so far as Timothy was 
concerned, enough seen and heard to cause 
him to pursue with ardor his journey, for 
he was one of those light-hearted souls that 
would ride himself and horse down in or- 
der to carry the first news, or be the bearer 
of disastrous tidings. He, therefore, no 
sooner left the scene of action, where 
McQuirk was found, than he scampered off 
in that never-ending gait so well known to 
his pony. As he dashed onwards ho be- 
came entirely lost in his cogitations, fre- 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


71 


quenlly rehearsing the particulars of the 
battle, and its dire mishaps to his friend, 
and the king’s friend, McQuirk. Occa- 
sionally, he would raise his hand emphati- 
cally, enforcing his conclusions. It was 
during one of those unguarded gesticula- 
tions, when his body was bent forward, 
and his right arm was extended to its full 
length, that his horse suddenly wheeling 
to the left, flung him headlong to the 
ground. The little Captain soon sprung 
to his feet, and with curses and violent 
threats began to cut a club to beat his 
pony. About the time that he was ready 
for revenge, he was arrested in his pro- 
gress by a voice, which exclaimed — 

“ Come, my friend, don’t be cruel to the 
little Light-wood-krrot. I was the cause of 
your fall. I suddenly stept to the side of 
the road to see who was approaching, as 
I heard your horse’s feet, and your voice.” 

“ Why, I ’ll never tread the face of clay, 
if it aint you. Is it possible you are alive, 
Squire 1 Why, how in the name of mud, 
did you ever land here 1” 

Thus saying, the warm-hearted guide 
ran up, and cordially greeted Julian. 

“ Did you see the little devil throw mel 
He calculated I was about to drive a big 
cudgel on his head, and dodged me ; but I 
was just speaking of the cruel and rascally 
conduct in attacking you single handed — 
for Cato says there were three or four 
against you. Thank God ! you cut and 
slashed McQuirk capitally, and I don’t pity 
him, for he ’s the most torn-down horse 
tliief in the three Southern States.” 

Julian thanked his companion for his 
good wishes, and inquired minutely into 
the plans and designs of Clannagan. 

“ I should like to know whether he is an 
honorable enemy, Mr. Tidder,” said he. 

“ l\s to your questions. Squire,” answer- 
ed Tidder, “ I ca n’t exactly come to a 
final and proper answer, seeing that I am 
not in the habit of having very much to do 
with him in his quarrels. But I can tell 
you a sort of secret howsomdever — which 
is this, but if ever you mention it, I shall 
forever be your sworn enemy ; because I 
overheard it, and I should not like to be 
spying or eaves-dropping about Colonel 
Clannagan and his fellow officers; seeing 
as how I’m only a kind of express and 
guide like in these parts. They say I ’m 
to be trusted — a hard rider — and know 
every hog-path better than any man in the 
three Districts.” 

“What is the secret 1” asked Julian; 
“ you may depend upon the strictest si- 
lence.” 


“ Why, you know old Walden — whom 
you insulted at the ball, as I heard Colonel 
Notwood tell Clannagan — well, sir, you 
understand that he has a large estate, and 
many negroes — in tact, I’ve been there 
often. Well, sir, it is the plan to git him 
to either take an oath, or cause him to join 
the king, or confiscate his estates, and es- 
pecially as old Grayson is now out of their 
way.” 

“ Colonel Grayson dead, you say 1” asked 
Julian, with surprise, “how did you learn 
that!” 

“ Oh, I believe Dr. String Halt brought 
the news, or sent it to Colonel Clannagan 
the evening just before we started ; any 
how, I heard them saying, ‘ our prospect 
brightens, and we had as well make our 
jacks out of the enemies of our cause, as 
not;’ and I heard Clannagan say, ‘yes, and 
that old hag will be a constant spy on us, 
now her husband is dead ; and that old re- 
bel Walden has been over there already to 
comfort her, and prepare her mind for his 
treason and dark doings against the king’s 
cause !’ And he swore that he would see 
that boy Edward Conway at the devil, or 
any other Whig puppy, before they should 
marry Colonel Grayson’s daughter, and I 
believe furthermore, Squire, that he has a 
kind of a spite against you, and your con- 
cerns; for he told me distinctly, if we were 
attacked, to be sure not to help you in the 
least, ‘ for he ’s a damned rebel, prowling 
about here under the protection of a pa- 
role.’” 

“ Is it possible that Clannagan has plot- 
ted mischief against me!” asked Julian, 
in a manner which evidently betrayed 
some marks of disbelief. 

“I’ve never deceived you in my life, 
Squire, and I ’ll be sworn on my wife’s 
bible, if it ai n’t the God’s truth — and, sir, 
if you disbelieve that, you may go to Old 
Harry head-foremost for what I care,” said 
Tidder, about to remount his pony, which 
had not moved far after he commenced 
picking the grass. 

“ What am I to do, then, if those whom 
I thought my friends are against me I” 
asked Julian. 

“Your friends'? Why, sir, Clannagan 
would as soon tuck you up to the first gate- 
post which he came across, if you offended 
him, as I would one of old Conway’s hounds 
for storming one of my wife’s poultry nests. 
Sir, I am obliged to play devilish shy with 
him, ever since I and Cato Walden, that 
slick, black, greasy old devil 'that kept the 
dogs off* us last night, helped to steal a girl 
from him; and that’s the reason why he 


72 


ONSLOW, 


hates the Conways and Waldens so much. 
Sir, he ’s got the temper of ten tigers any 
day — and moreover, I act also as a kind of 
spy for him on Bucklebelt and Coldfire, and 
the gang he hates.” 

“A spy, Mr. Tidder, on your fellow- 
citizens, neighbors, friends, and perhaps 
kindred] Sir, have you any idea of the 
heinousness of the office 1” 

“ Yes, sir, to a pin’s point — to the least 
possible thing you could imagine during 
the longest day’s hard thinking.” After a 
pause, Tidder continued — “ But I ’m one of 
those kind of huntsmen who never shoot 
until the game has fairly passed the stand. 
Yes, sir — T ’m a curious sort of man — can 
see very well behind me, but not an inch 
of foresight. Ha ! ha !” chuckled the lit- 
tle fellow — “ And now, squire, just mount 
the Light-wood-knot, and we ’ll fall in to- 
night at my lodgings, and plan some way 
of getting early next morning to 'our pro- 
per posts.” 

Julian refused to ride until the ordinary 
point of politeness was exhausted. Tidder 
swore he would not allow a friend to walk, 
and he ride — “ for on horse or on foot-back, 
I ’m tough as whit leather, Squire, and you 
look fatigued and demolished, by such work 
as you have had, walking and bamboozling 
about in this wild country.” 

The two travellers, after having ar- 
ranged the broken stirrup and adjusted 
the mock saddle, set forward, Tidder lead- 
ing the way, descanting on various sub- 
jects as they came up in his mind ; occa- 
sionally starting from Julian an involun- 
tary smile, at the singular mixture of 
shrewdness and folly, which was displayed 
the more freely as Julian felt no great dis- 
position to enter into conversation. Their 
route was along a narrow, unfrequented 
cart-way, grown up in bushes, and covered 
with fallen logs, which had been neglected 
since the prostration of the Whig cause. 

“ It ’s a pity. Squire,” said Tidder, “ for 
things to be working as they are, and I ’m 
thinking that McQuirk’s frolic will prove 
for you a middling ticklish kind of a snarl ; 
for I ’m certain that he ’s the most noted 
rascal in these parts, and his accomplices 
will swear any thing ; and as for Clanna- 
gan, he ’s taken such a spite against you, 
that I ’m under the impression ’t would n’t 
be best for you, unless Colonel Conway 
would take a conspicuous part, for you 
to go right snolus bolus into the camp. T 
could go in and tell the Colonel the lead- 
ing part ; and tell him, also, that you had 
your horse taken. You could wait until I 
could gather something of the opinions of 


the Colonel, for he ’s very apt to speak his 
mind pretty freely, and we must determine 
the matter by morning. But the fact is. 
Mister, I should like to know, in dead earn- 
est, what you are — though, for as you 
know, I can pass — but if Lieutenant Cold- 
fire, or his hell-skellions, were to fall upon 
us, it might ’nt be so overly well ; and 
there ’s others I might name, fellows who 
are as still as a winged mouse — but just 
let night come, and they look so queer too, 
and knowing to boot, when any thing is 
said about Clark, or Marion, or Sumpter 
and Pickens, that they seem to signify by 
their looks as if they knew a good deal ; 
but you can ’t get the first word out of 
them, neither.” 

“ I am, sir,” replied Julian, “somewhat 
of a no-party man at this time, like your- 
self.” 

“ Ay ! but I knows there ’s something in 
the wind ; I ’ve heard like that you ’ve been 
a Continentilar — but I ’ve thought perhaps 
you might have an idea of joining in with 
the king’s party, as you ’ve been so amaz- 
ing thick with them,” said Tidder, show- 
ing a kind of curiosity, which is often ex- 
hibited, and a species of acumen which, 
in men of penetration and promptness, 
would be followed by immediate action, 
yet in this class is often but the effort of 
the imagination to exhibit its skill ; some- 
what akin to the uncertain guesses of those 
who forbode misfortunes, and prophesy the 
worst that can turn up, seizing upon evils 
which chance may have in store as most 
likely to show off their penetration of mind. 

“ I shall never be a recreant or turncoat 
from what I believe right — and I shall be 
what I was when I formed my first ac- 
quaintance with them; and furthermore, 
every thing is entirely gone and given up 
to the royalists — the people are now ^1 of 
one way of thinking, I suppose!” asked 
Julian, pretty much inclined to believe his 
question would be answered in the affirma- 
tive. 

_ “ It is mighty hard to teach old dogs new 
tricks. Squire,” said Tidder. “ But look,” 
continued he, rather falling to the side of 
Julian, “ is’nt that an Indian ! and I ’m a 
little jubious of the Indians any how, 
peace, or no peace; we’d better halt, or 
file out of the road, I tell you, for there ’s 
no good in any Indian, no matter where 
you may find them.” 

Julian, after eyeing the approaching 
figure for a few minutes, pronounced it a 
woman. 

“ I ’ll be bound it’s a squaw, sir, and we’d 
better retreat ; for they never tramp about 


A TALE OF TKE SOUTH. 


73 


like other sort of women, by their lone 
selves ; no ! you may depend it’s Ingins ! 
look at the pony, how he recognizes them, 
for he ’s been used to them.” 

The pony had stopped suddenly, and ear- 
nestly gazed at the approaching woman, 
which only the more confirmed Tidder in 
the opinion that she was an Indian, whilst 
Julian, unacquainted with the country, 
quickly glanced at his musket, and deter- 
mined to use it, if it became necessary. 

“ Stand !” exclaimed Tidder, “ in the 
name of the lawful sovereign, beyond the 
seas, and of his right trusty Col. Tarleton 
and Clannagan, and also, of Maj. Notwood, 
to boot, and myself, who am with this gen- 
tleman in quest of our lawful and deputed 
duty.” 

“ If the duty be equal to your looks, re- 
plied tlie bold and dauntless person address- 
ed, whom the reader will recognize as 
Edir Immerson, “then it must be one of 
low degree ; but why challenge you one, 
who neither comes upon you with associ- 
ates nor arms'! is not peace yet restored, by 
the mighty King of Great Britain, and his 
valiant men of war"? thrice have I this 
day been way laid, and hindered by men 
bearing arms.” 

“ I beg ten thousand pardons,” said Tid- 
der, advancing tip cautiously, “ I meant no 
material disrespect, but seeing that there 
was rather Inginy doings on your corporosi- 
ty, I thought it would be well to be on my 
guard against a surprise, or ambuscade- 
ment.” 

“ Can you tell me where I can see ‘The 
Bloody scout,’ and its torch-light leader 1 
Those who can teach the Indians new 
craft in sin and murder! tell me quickly, for 
I have no time to throw away words upon 
the worthless and bragging idlers of the 
day.” Edir suddenly gazed upon Julian, 
as she asked the question. “ Aye ! so 
young and yet able to keep company with 
the old and hardened ; poor thing,” said she, 
as Julian gazed at her, surprised by the 
unexpected exclamation : “ You little wot 
of that charnel house, the heart of man. — 
But the sweet bloom of innocence is not 
yet washed away by bitter tears from thy 
cheeks; thou art, perchance, eager to enter 
into the follies which thy sex so love and 
pursue ; come near me, give me thy hand. 
I tell thee, child ! that these dark and hide- 
ous paths, and darker times, suit not thy 
countenance. You blush ! Look ! look ! 
at the eye, the brow, the mouth.” Edir 
suddenly assumed a wild and extraordinary 
look ! Her countenance became convulsed, 
and her dark eyes flashed wildly for a mo- 


ment, whilst the muscles of her face twitch- 
ed involuntarily. She clasped her hands, 
and looked in every direction ; then sud- 
denly she became motionless, and gazed 
up to the heavens, as if earnestly employ- 
ed in attempting to pierce with her vision 
the very depths of the cerulean vault. 

“ Go !” she said, as she was apparently 
departing. “ But no, I cannot leave you 
thus ; come hither, I have a word of ad- 
vice for thee ; remain on thy post for a few 
minutes,” said Edir, turning towards Tid- 
der, who seemed more inclined than Julian 
to obey the' summons ; “ I must warn the 
young, ere they fall into the snares of tempt- 
ation and destruction,” she muttered. 

“ Well,” said Tidder, as he rather re- 
coiled back to his pony, “ a preacher, no 
doubt a kind of Quakeress; but I do’nt 
know so well, neither ; she must be an In- 
dian, or some outlandish gypsy thing or 
another. - I would as soon see a she wolf. 
I wonder if she wishes to inveigle and be- 
witch the Squire fearful of some mishap, 
he exclaimed : “ Keep a bright eye out, 
Squire.” 

As soon as the strange being had remov- 
ed to a convenient distance, not to be over- 
heard, she said, in an earnest tone to Juli- 
an, “ There is something in thy face and 
countenance, in thy eyes and voice, which 
raises up the memory, and digs up the bu- 
ried treasures of the heart. Tell me, in 
truth, who art thou 1 whither thou goest 1 
for although thy race are false and treach- 
erous, yet, I cannot see one, so like one 
I once knew, go headlong into destruction. 
I tell you, beware of Clannagan and his 
bloody scout. Blood and murder is their 
trade, and they are worse than the rattle- 
snake ; he will warn thee, but these will 
creep upon thee like the catamount. — 
Leave these Tories and Whigs to quarrel 
and fight for money and revenge ; I have 
cause to hate them all.” 

Julian had gazed with deep interest on 
the vivid eye of this singular woman, and 
felt awed by her bold and fearless bearing. 
There was a deep and settled earnestness, 
which bore evidence of her sincerity. To 
him, then an outcast, a wanderer, this sym- 
pefthyand interest, so unexpected, produced 
a degree of confidence, which led him al- 
most unconsciously to unbosom his senti- 
ments more fully than perliaps he would 
have done under different circumstances.” 

“Indeed, good woman,” said Julian, 
“ your sympathy for my situation, and prof- 
fered advice, call for my warmest grati- 
tude, but how can they be of any service 
to me } It is true I am a wanderer, un- 


74 


ONSLOW, 


known to any one ; without kindred ; no 
one cares for me, and none need mourn for 
me ; I, too, may complain of treachery and 
falsehood.” 

“Ah !” exclaimed Edir, “ give me thy 
hand; speak plainly, was it thy own sexl 
or wasi it poor deluded woman, who has 
paid back a portion of the crying debt of 
thy race, upon thy head 1 say, hast thou 
been wooing to betray, to destroy, to aban- 
don 1 

“ No, no, I am idle,” said Julian, and 
must cease such an unprofitable conversa- 
tion. I thank you for your kind wishes and 
advice, and bid you farewell.” 

Julian extended his hand to the stern 
and solemn looking being, who took hold 
of it, and surveying it, said with deep emo- 
tion, “ Which way, in truth, young man 
dust and ashes are all that are left of mine ; 
I, too, am a wanderer; you are in the 
bloom of health, and like one I once knew ! 
Yes, you are like him, and may be would 
follow in his burning tracks. They say 
poor Edir Immerson is demented, a maniac ; 
I know it, but it is the tempest instead of 
the breeze; the cataract, instead of the ri- 
vulet. They little know the magic wand 
that I wield ; and they little ken tlie 
means that I can command. Speak, child, 
for your imp of idleness is getting restless ; 
tell me thy plans and schemes, for I much 
fear that harm is meant thee, and I cannot 
look upon the stars of heaven with thy 
blood upon my conscience. 

“ I am going back, if I can find the way 
to the residence of Mrs. Wittingham, 
where Notwood and Tarleton are, and 
perhaps Ciannagan.” 

“ Never trust them ; for I have cause to 
know that you will be betrayed. Already 
have two conspirators determined on your 
life ; and they are in pursuit of you, by the 
commands of Ciannagan ; let me tell thee 
that' thou wilt not be the only victim ; 
more are to sulfer; Walden, Grayson, 
Bucklebelt, Milligan and others.” 

“ How V’ asked Julian. 

“ I dare not tell more; but go with me, 
and I can avert the calamity or warn the 
unsuspecting.” 

“ Alas ! my life is a mystery, and she 
t(^ is perhaps to suffer.” 

“ Ah ha !” said Edir, catching the solilo- 
quy of Julian, ’“a woman! a girl! I tell 
thee, if this poor hand can aid her, I will 
do it. But no ! no !” said Edir, her coun- 
tenance darkening, “ 1 dare not betray the 
innocent, and I will not minister to your 
lusts, be it in wedlock or with the solemn 
pledge. I too well remember the fatal curse 


upon my own head. But I will keep you 
out of danger, and Bucklebelt and the in- 
nocent, that thou lovest. 

“ Halloo ! Squire,” exclaimed Tidder, 
“ you had better be tugging, for it ’s nearly 
night, and I’m getting hungry, mayhap that 
woman would go with us. If so, you and 
her can get through your confab during the 
night, I guess,” said Tidder, starting to- 
wards them, determined to arrest any fur- 
ther conversation. 

“ Keep thy own thoughts,” said Edir, “ I 
will see thee ere sunrise, for I know the 
residence of that thriftless dog, of Clanna- 
gan’s.” Then, turning to Tidder, she said, 
“ Thanks to thee, soldier, I must see Col. 
Ciannagan, perhaps I may call on thee 
ere noon to-morrow.” 

“ But stop, stop, you can be company for 
me, for I am determined to see the Colonel 
shortly, for I promised to meet him to-mor- 
row, at twelve o’clock, and carry him all 
the news.” 

“ No! no! I cannot go with thee now.” 

Edir immediately took the opposite di- 
rection, and our travellers seeing that she 
was gone, pursued their course towards the 
residence of Capt. Tidder. 

For several miles, the country was flat, 
and overgrown with herbs and low shrub- 
bery ; whilst the tall trees hung en wrapt 
with the clambering grape and other ad- 
venturous vines, which almost excluded the 
light of the unfaded day; the incessant 
hum of the thousand insects, which people 
the air, and the mimic twilight of the 
scene, cast a solemn gloom over the breast 
of Julian, as he slowly rode behind his 
walking companion, whose principal con- 
versation was taken up in questions or sug- 
gestions about the strange appearance of 
Edir Imn*ierson. Julian felt all the harrow- 
ing sensations, which his peculiar situation 
was calculated to excite, and he found but 
little consolation in his present companion, 
or the late interview. The vague hint as 
to the imminent danger of Col. Grayson’s 
fiimily, and of Walden, whom he knew to 
be a true Whig, strangely affected his 
nerves ; a violent contest ensued between 
his views of propriety, his personal safety, 
and the fears be felt for the situation of 
those whom Edir had indicated as liable 
to be involved in so much peril. He be- 
gan, Yrom a careful review of the particu- 
lars of the last few days, to apprehend that 
Ciannagan had no respect for any who was 
or might be opposed to him, in the present 
contest ; and from the acknowledged sway 
which he held over his followers, as well 
as his influence with the regular officers, 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


75 


caused him to doubt his own personal safe- 
ty. lie found himself a solitary wanderer, 
hundreds of miles from his former home, a 
prisoner, with a parole, which, it seemed, 
did not, or could not, from the unsettled 
state of the country, protect him ; his con- 
clusions were various, and unsatisfactory. 
He had already attempted to be exchanged, 
and had failed. In this mood, he determin- 
ed to. await the developments of the night, 
and then, if nothing occured to alter his 
decision, he would see Capt. Gant, and ex- 
plain his situation, and demand redress for 
the treatment he had received, or a pass- 
port for the North. Any situation but the 
unpleasant one he now occupied, would be 
more tolerable. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

He gave him of his highland cheer, 

The hardened flesh of mountain deer. 
****** 

Then rest thee here ’till dawn of day, 

Myself will guide thee on the way. — S cott. 

She would weep, that her wild bees 
Sang not to her — strange ! that honey 
Can’t be got without hard money ! — I^eats. 

The preceding cogitations and half form- 
ed resolutions of Julian were interrupted 
by the neighing of the pony as they ap- 
proached the residence of his guide, which 
was answered by the shout of a gang of 
children, who came hollooing and scamp- 
ering up, at the well known signal of the 
approach of their favorite. 

“ I ’ll ride the pony,” and “ I ’ll ride be- 
fore,” were the earnest expressions of the 
jolly band, as they approached. 

“ There ! Tliere now ! Daddy’s sold 
Light- wood-knot.” 

“ You have ’nt sold the poor little fellow, 
daddy, to that there ugly man I If you 
have, I ’ll go and tell mammy, that I will,” 
said one of the little girls. 

Capt. Tidder soon put the whole party 
to rights, and removed their apprehensions 
by denying that he had parted with their 
friend ; and Julian good naturedly dis- 
mounted, and packed up three or four, 
whilst Tidder called to Buck and Bud to 
get some knots to kindle a fire. 

They arrived at the place in time to see 
the meagre hut, which gave comfort and a 
canopy to the family ; a few rails inclosed 
a low cabin and an outhouse, which served 
for a kitchen and work house. 

The cattle had come up, to escape the 
flies and insects, and to get their accustom- 
ed pittance of salt ; and Tidder, on his arri- 


val, gave a familiar whoop which collected 
them to the usual salting log, which had 
small excavations, about six inches in width 
and length, and a few inches in depth, for 
holding salt. 

One of the boys was ordered to tie the 
pony to a mortar, burnt out of a stump ; 
Julian remained awhile idly surveying the 
scene, whilst the children had grouped to- 
gether, closely eyeing his gun, which at- 
tracted their attention. 

“ He is a soldier, I’ll be bound,” said Buck, 
as he flung down his load of torch wood. 

“ Come, walk in, walk in,” said Tidder, 
light up a fire, boys; come, wife, let me in- 
troduce you to my friend, Squire Onslow ; 
we are plaguy poor, but if we give' him 
the best we have it’s not worth while to 
grumble ; and make haste, boys, with your 
light, and let me introduce the gentleman.” 

As soon as a light was kindled, a real 
Amazon, though good looking woman, ad- 
vanced and greeted Julian, by shaking 
hands and inquiring after his health. “ And 
that is my darter Naomi, after the scrip- 
tures ; and them two boys are Buck and 
Bud.” 

“ I think the gentleman will be at a loss 
to find out the names of your boys,” said 
the lady, “ but they are nicknames.” 

“Well, I’d as soon be called Buck as 
Bill, and I guess as how Bud docs as well 
as Tim,” said a very small, sharp-nosed, 
tallow-faced, white-headed boy, a little 
over three feet and a half high. 

“And the heart’s all, and not the name 
or size neither,” continued the little fellow, 
with an air of consequence, as he turned 
around to look more fully at Julian. 

“ It’s plaguy strange. Squire,” said Tid- 
der, “ how many children dodge about, first 
one after me, and the other after Hons 
there. You perceive Buck ; well, I 'll bet 
you my pony to your musket, that you can’t 
come within two years of that boy’^ age.” 

“ Ten,” said Julian. 

“ No, sir ! he is sixteen years old this 
identical month ; and as fine, and as honest 
and dutiful a child, and as free from any 
naughty tricks as any boy in this district or 
beat.” 

“ ’Tis mind makes the man,” said little 
Buck. 

“And as for his sister, she will soon be 
fourteen likewise,” continued Tidder. 
“ Come here, Bess or Elizabeth — let the 
Squire see if he has ever seen a more pro- 
mising gal to your age in all his rambles.” 

Julian bowed to the large, blowzy-head- 
ed girl, who nodded to him, and with a 
shy look bounced out of the door. Juliaa 


76 


ONSLOW, 


saw that nature had dealt pretty fairly be- 
tween the two parents; for about half were 
almost dwarfs, whilst the others showed 
great size and strength. 

Buck and Bud were ordered to a neigh- 
boring creek to examine the traps for fish, 
whilst the good lady and her two daughters 
prepared to furnish something for supper. 

“ I’m proud of my wife and family, Squire. 
Now some women would have met me 
with a thunder gust, and looked sour at 
you ; but I ’ve brought things to a better 
pass than that ; for when the house gets too 
hot, I just mounts the Light-wood-knot, 
and gallops off to a cool spot, and waits till 
they all cool out and gets glad to see me, 
ha ! ha ! aint that the time of day. Squire 1” 
“ Here, Hons,” said the husband to his wife, 
as she came in, “ is a frock from Prudence 
Conway for our youngest, and here’s a lit- 
tle stuff to put some camphor in when you 
get narvous.” 

“ I don’t like to be beholden to niggers 
neither, Tidder,” said the good woman ; 
“ but as she has her own time and way, I 
suppose she had as well give them to me 
as any body else.” 

Julian nodded an assent, as the declara- 
tion was intended for his approbation. 

Supper was soon arranged, and a rickety 
chair, filled by drawing the skin from the 
head of a beef tightly over the posts, was 
offered to Julian ; whilst the rest of the fa- 
mily either stood around the table, or seat- 
ed themselves on benches; and the se- 
cond daughter, Peggy, held a blazing torch, 
the smoke of which occasionally causing 
her to shift her head as it blew in her face ; 
she was one that took after the size of her 
father. 

Julian was delighted with his supper, 
and proved that fatigue and hunger gave a 
zest to its good preparation. Indeed, few 
men could have objected to the fresh fish 
and fr^sh eggs, boiled rather hard for mo- 
dern tastes. Milk, butter, and a little fresh 
beef, were objects of solicitude to any 
hungry man, and well calculated to solace 
and comfort one less squeamish than our 
traveler. 

After supper was over the two boys 
proposed to take a bee tree which they had 
found. 

My wife’s aunt,” said Tidder, “ is the 
■greatest hand in this district to prepare bee 
bait. Sir, they will come miles, I’ve no 
doubt, to suck it. If I wasn’t so much 
taken up with the affairs of the army, and 
other people’s business, I could supply Cam- 
den with honey. I tell you. Squire, I have 
found at lea.st as many as five or six of a 


week, just by using her newly-invented 
bait — and. Squire, I wish you could see 
aunt Nanny Hart; just to see her would 
do your eyes good. I ’ve a plaguy strong 
mind to send for her to help to take the bee 
tree.” 

“ Have we time,” asked Julian, “ after 
the fatigues of the day ; and would it not 
incommode your aunt too muchl” 

“ No, Squire ; it would be fun for- her. 
Mount the pony. Bud, and tell your aunty 
to meet us by the bee tree with the fine 
notches on it, just at the forks of the road, 
close to the black lightwood stump, where 
she cut out torch-wood the night that I fell 
from my horse. Hurry, Bud, hurry !” 

“ Yes, I know, I know, ’’exclaimed the 
overgrown fellow, as he started whooping 
and whistling for his dogs. 

It was one of those clear, still nights, 
when spring and summer seem to mingle 
and harmonize like the soft colors of twi- 
light ; the liquid stars were cheerful, and 
the air was calm and filled with the aroma 
of flowers. The lady of Timmy Tidder 
prepared to accompany the two gentlemen ; 
whilst the crying brats were suffered to be 
dragged along in a half trot by the elder 
children ; or, if unable to keep up, were 
scolded and slung to the back, grasping the 
bearer around the neck. Julian was consi- 
derate enough to take one of the little girls 
by the hand ; whilst Buck and the oldest 
girls were loaded with axes and pewter 
vessels, and wooden trays or trenchers; 
and Tidder led the way with blazing torch, 
descanting on the wonderful virtues of his 
wife’s aunt’s bee bait, and his great skill 
in tracing out the direction of bees. 

“ I ’ve been plaguy vexed, and, by jing ! 
Squire, if I wasn’t the most persevering 
critur in creation ; many’s the time I would 
have lost a fat and rich bee tree; and Hons 
knows it.” 

“ I know one thing, Tidder, and that’s 
not two, that you are the greatest brag in 
this world ; for to my certain knowledge, 
you havn’t found a bee tree in six months ; 
for you know the* children and their great 
aunt have found every tree this year.” 

“That’s the God’s truth,” exclaimed 
Buck, “ and I can’t see how daddy’s got so 
powerful forgetful since he and Col. Clan- 
nagan’s got so deep, head and ears together 
in the wars ; for I know what little’s made, 
is done by mammy and us children.” 

“ None of your impudence. Buck ; an- 
other word out of your mouth, and by jing! 
you’ll understand why I’m so much in the 
warfaring way.” 

“ I don’t mean to be impudent, daddy, 


A TALE OP THE SOUTH. 


77 


but you know it’s the downright, start- 
naked truth, what I said.” 

“ It’s every word the truth. Squire,” said 
the lady, rather mending her pace to get 
rnore fully into the heart of the conversa- 
tion. 

“It’s always the way; I can’t say a 
word to reprimand or advise one of the 
children, but what you take their part ; hut 
when you get hold of them I might bellow 
as loud as thunder, and you’d only bang 
and bruise and beat them the harder.” 

“ I always makes allowances as long as 
I can keep in a good humor; but when my 
hand once gets raised it’s obliged to fall.” 

“Yes,” replied Tidder, “with pretty hea- 
vy exertions behind it to boot.” 

One of the children exclaimed that it 
heard their aunty’s voice, and saw at the 
tree a light, which hurried on the party 
more rapidly, all dropping their squabbles 
in the more profitable anticipation of taking 
the great prize. 

Julian, on arriving at the spot, was sur- 
prised to find Edir Immerson in company 
with Nanny Hart — a personage, by the 
bye, whose exploits in the cause of liberty 
require a more full and minute account 
than can be given in these pages. Suffice 
it to say, that she was a very large and 
masculine woman, cross-eyed, and had the 
misfortune to be most terribly scourged by 
the small pox. Altogether, her exterior 
was rather unprepossessing ; yet her face 
W'as no index to her heart, further than as 
it indicated great resolution and courage, of 
the most determined kind ; and, although 
limited in her education, yet her strong na- 
tive intellect led her at once to espouse the 
cause of liberty ; and throughout the se- 
vere struggle she was as a bulwark, im- 
pregnable to all assaults upon her firmness 
i n resisting oppression. 

Nanny, (as she was familiarly called,) 
at the time of Julian’s adventure, had 
left her residence in Wilkes county, in 
Georgia, on Broad River, sofne fifteen 
miles above its junction with the Savannah, 
and had come over on a visit to some of 
her acquaintances and relations. She 
thought it most prudent to occupy a vacant 
house of one of the refugees who had been 
compelled to leave the State in conse- 
quence of the tyranny of the Tories. In 
fact, it was supposed that she had been in- 
duced to do so for the double purpose of 
protecting their property, and at the same 
time to act as a spy upon some of the 
leaders amongst the Tories. 

Edir had in her travels ascertained the 
peculiar feelings of Nanny, and, therefore. 


as soon as she had met with Julian, in 
whose fate she became suddenly and deep- 
ly interested, she determined to seek her 
residence and attempt to arrange some plan 
by which Julian should be kept in safety. 
And to apprise her of the disposition which 
the Tory leaders had towards him, she had 
already sounded her hostess on the possi- 
bility of harm towards him, as well as her 
disposition to screen him, if it became ne- 
cessary, from the band of Tories and regu- 
lators which infested the country. 

It was with great glee that the little 
party of children met their “ Aunty,” who, 
after a passing shake of the hand to J u- 
lian, set in with Tidder lustily to cut down 
the tree. 

“ G& talk to the strange woman. Squire, 
or whoever you are, and let me and Tidder 
attend to our business; you would cut a 
pretty figure with your eyes all bunged up, 
as if you had been gouged in a drunken 
spree ; get out of my way ; for you shall 
not cut a lick upon the tree, or get stung 
by a bee neither.” 

Such was the answer which the cross- 
eyed and cross-grained looking Amazon 
gave Julian as he rather persisted in as- 
sisting in the enterprise of felling the tree. 

“ Come hither,” said Edir to Julian, 
“ cross not the orders of one whose expe- 
rience and wishes lead her to such work.” 

And whilst the whole company were 
deeply engaged in all the bustle of taking 
the hive, she conversed aside with Julian, 
informing him of the character of Nanny 
Hart and her faithfulness to the Whig 
cause ; telling him that Tidder would as- 
suredly do whatever might be required of 
him by Clannagan. During the brief 
time in which the others were engaged, it 
was arranged that Julian should go over to 
Nanny Hart’s, and that the excuse for so 
doing would be made out by Nanny her- 
self. “You must obey her; mind what I 
tell thee ; I hear the tree cracking — mind 
you obey,” and Edir disappeared. 

The scene which followed was one of 
boisterous mirth, and affected screams from 
the children, as a bee, made frantic by 
smoke, attempted to escape or defend its 
home. Pieces of old rags and brimstone 
ignited with torches, effectually stilled or 
killed the bees, and then the robbing and' 
eating commenced. Buck, ever and anon, 
offering his aunty or the Squire a nice bit 
of comb. Tidder had the address to con- 
ceal a bottle, which he now drew forth by 
way of “ washing down the bee bread, 
which always made him sick, and to guard 
against the colic and poison,” which he 


78 


ONSLOW, 


said was “ sometimes in certain districts of 
country, but is mighty seldom in our parts 
he added, “ but it’s well enough, Squire, to 
be on one’s guard.” 

“ What screaming and hollooing is that 
at the house V’ asked Mrs. Tidder ; “ some 
of the poor marauding thieves are coming 
now to disturb us.” 

The conjecture was right — for, in a little 
time, a gang composed of six soldiers came 
clattering up to where the party was en- 
gaged ; Nanny Hart whispered to Julian 
to make his escape ; but he refused, on the 
ground that he had done nothing which 
would subject him to the just vengeance 
of any in the country. But judge of his 
surprise, when he saw the stern features 
of Snyder pointing at him, and heard his 
orders to “ seize him ! He is the rebel and 
the conspirator ; he is the fellow wdio has 
murdered the King’s subject, and has put 
to naught every law of the land.” 

The gang were variously accoutred, and 
showed symptoms of hard drinking. “I 
thought I could worm him out,” continued 
Snyder, “ but that infernal coward Fawk 
wouldn’t come; Col. Clannagan told me 
where I might possibly find him, and to 
bring him dead or alive.” 

“ Let’s tie him ! let’s tie him ! Captain 
Snyder,” shouted several. 

“No, I’d rather tie his neck; but he’ll 
smell hell soon enough, when he gets to 
the camp.” 

“ By what authority am I thus molest- 
ed!” asked Julian. 

“ Ha ! ha !” chuckled three or four ; 
“why,” answered a meager, gap-toothed 
gawk who was all mouth and no head, “ by 
the authority of gun-powder and ball, sir.” 

“ Yes,” replied a hump-back, greasy lad, 
with a buck’s tail in his hat, “by the 
power of cunning and swift horses’ heels. 
I smelt you five miles off. I can smell 
rebel blood as far as a buzzard can smell a 
dead dog.” 

The whole squad raised a tremendous 
shout at the wit of the last speaker. “ Hurra 
for Hunch-back ! he’s my man ! Come, 
boys, let’s have a dram. Whose got the 
canteen !” asked the lank-leggy, all-mouth 
and small-headed ruffian. 

“I’ve got it,” shouted a chuffy, mop- 
haired, squat, bow-legged fellow, with bull 
eyes and red nose. 

“That’s the time of day, faggot-nose! 
Never leave your ammunition ; I mean the 
wet ammunition ; can’t be injured by wa- 
ter, unless its overcome by more than its 
own weight, ha ! ha 1 


Another shout was raised at Hunch- 
back’s wit. 

“ Silence ! silence in the positive ! I say,” 
exclaimed Snyder. “ It becomes us to be 
merry; but not boisterous here, before 
those women and children ; we must make 
arrangements for eating and sleeping; 
take your drink, boys ; honey and whiskey 
will do well after getting such a great 

prize in our hands ! ‘ Get the d d rebel 

renegade, if it costs the life of half your 
men. I ’ve got good grounds to hate him ; 
he’s a bird that will scream against us yet; 
get the lark, Snyder, and you ’re the boy 
for him ; for you curse him like you hated 
him.’ Aye, Clannagan, you spoke right ! 

I do hate him, and sure enough, my morn- 
ing traveler, we lodge together to-night.” 

“ I would as soon attempt to converse 
with a wild boar as with you,” replied 
Julian. 

“ You speak thus to me, you impudent 
rascal !” shouted Snyder, threatening Ju- 
lian with his sword. 

“ Take that! you brute,” exclaimed Buck 
Tidder, who, seizing a piece of the split 
lightwood, struck Snyder in the back. “Is 
that the way you ’re serving our friend ! 
you ill mannered rascal, is that the way 
you serve a gentleman, and six of vou to 
one!” 

“ You little fice ! I ’ll stamp your car- 
case into the earth,” said Snyder. 

“ Then, sir, you ’ll have to walk over 
my dead body first,” said Nanny Hart, 
walking right up to Snyder; “and over 
mine,” said Mrs. Tidder; “ and over mine,” 
said Bud, seizing \he axe ; “and mine too,” 
said Capt. Tidder, stepping up by the side 
of his son Buck, who stood with his stick 
drawn back and his eyes glistening like a 
badger’s on his pursuers. 

“ Keep an eye, boys, on the prisoner ; fire 
the first gun at him and make sure work ; 
and now, madam, and all of you, if you all 
are not instantly quiet, I ’ll blow out the 
brains of the rebel scoundrel.” 

“ For God’s sake don’t murder the inno- 
cent man in cold blood ; he is a mere tra- 
veler, came in here to-night in a peaceable 
manner,” said Nanny Hart, alarmed for 
the safety of Julian. 

“ Let me run back and get the gentle- 
man’s gun and blow out the Captain’s 
brains,” whispered Buck to Nanny. 

“ No, no ! child ; no, no !” whispered 
Nanny. 

“ I say,” shouted Snyder, “ let ’s put out, 
boys , or make a camp where we will not 
have such a set of fools about us.” 


A TALE OP THE SOUTH. 


79 


“ Come, Captain,” said Nanny, with one 
of her most benignant smiles, “don’t be 
offended ; you see it was only my little 
grandnephew there that raised my temper. 
Go and stay with the prisoner at my house ; 
you shall have the best I have ; and what’s 
more, your horses can have green blades ; 
and you know that after so much fatigue 
you can have a good night’s rest.” 

“ Agreed, Captain ! agreed. Captain Sny- 
der !” shouted the whole company. 

“ Come on. Buck; you must help me to 
prepare something for the gentlemen’s 
supper.” 

Bud, in the mean while, was sent back 
over to Tidder’s to bring such remains of 
the supper as might be made use of, whilst 
Tidder began to grow very familiar with 
the gang of outlaws. 

“ And how is the Colonel to-day. May- 
pole 1” 

“ I don’t know, big fighting little Tim ; 
but I spose he was lively and larky, as he 
cursed very hard when Fawk and this 
new Captain met the Colonel, and related 
the great battle they had with that young 
rebel, and told of his violent abuse of all of 
our boys; but we’ve got the fox fast 
enough.” 

“Well, now I must see my friend the 
Colonel myself on this matter, and tell him 
the wliole truth ; for I don’t like to have a 
prisoner snatched out of my hands ; for I 
had him fast, and was just trolling him along 
to suit my own particular convenience, and 
picking him as clean as a soft peach stone,” 
said Tidder, as he gathered up the honey 
to carry it over with the cavalcade who 
gave the word to march. 

Mrs. Tidder and her children went home 
prepared to discuss the occurrences of the 
night. 

After the arrival at Nanny’s house, which 
was about ten o’clock, the several horses 
were either hobbled, belled, or tied up and 
fed with green corn, according to the views 
or chances of the several soldiers. 

It was determined that Julian should be 
tied. He submitted to the indignity with 
ineffable scorn and composure. Two were 
detailed to stand guard outside of the door, 
whilst the others took the floor. Nanny 
Hart requesting the Captain of the squad 
to take her bed, whilst she and her nephew 
would take their nap in the kitchen, and 
be ready for breakfast in the morning. 

“I dislike to incommode you, madam, 
and would willingly yield it to you,” re- 
plied Snyder; “but as it is your wish, I 
shall not disobey a lady, and as to the 


breakfast, it will come very well, for we 
are as hungry as \yolves.” 

_ “ I can furnish your men with some cold 
victuals : boiled corn, and there's the roast- 
ing years to boot ; some cold beef and col- 
lards, besides the honey and a parcel of 
big homminy, and some milk ; but as for 
bread, we have no meal, and since the 
wars no hand-mills worth any thing can be 
obtained.” 

“ And who would wish a better supper,” 
said Hunchback, “ specially.since I ’ve got 
the corn tears to shed over the roasting 
years, ha ! ha 1” 

The boisterous songs and oaths and witti- 
cisms were kept up until midnight, when 
silence flung its mantle over captor and 
captive, and the full chorus of the snoring 
ruffians was only interrupted by the crop- 
ping of grass and tramp of the horses, and 
the sleepless notes of the green grasshop- 
per, that forever chirps from the foliage of 
the trees in summer its monotonous though 
melancholy song, “ tit-a-nink,” or “ caty- 
did’nt,” as suits the ear of the sleepless 
listener. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

Per. I see the play so lies, 

That I must bear a part. 

Winter’s Tale. 

Julian was too much fatigued, and found 
too little prospect of escape, to busy his 
brains with any immediate effort of the 
kind ; besides, his hands were tied and his 
feet secured — the rope having been fast- 
ened around the body of Snyder, as he lay 
in bed. The door was barricaded, and two 
sentinels placed outside of the house, with 
orders to keep a strict watch. 

Nanny Hart perhaps was the only one 
of the eight or nine persons who did not 
sleep. The disappearance of Edir Immer- 
son; her mysterious coming and going; 
and the little she knew of the character of 
the prisoner, all contributed to disturb her 
mind, and to render any plan she might 
propose for his escape uncertain and ha- 
zardous. 

Tidder had returned home, by request of 
Nanny, who had told him that he would do 
well to go home and take care of his family. 
“ Leave me little Buck for compatty, Tid- 
der, and good night,” she said in a loud 
voice as he departed. 

Anxiously did the busy brain of the hos- 
tess revolve all its chances and plans. 
Who in the neighborhood could she trust. 


80 


ONSLOW, 


“If,” said she, “I were near old Elijah 
Clark’s or Webb’s, or Blake’s, or Reynolds’, 
we could soon have these scoundrels scamr 
pering. Often have I dashed over the river, 
to the terror of the Tories ; but here I am a 
stranger, and can’t even trust my own re- 
lations ; for as to Tidder, he cannot be de- 
pended upon; and as to Coldfire, I don’t 
know where to send for him ; and who 
could I send!” Full of these thoughts, 
Nanny crept out, and was proceeding cau- 
tiously around ihe corner of the house to 
where she supposed Julian was lying, de- 
termined to whisper to him, or attempt to 
remove a puncheon of the floor, and cast 
him loose ; but in this plan she was foiled. 
Just as she was turning around the corner 
of the house, one of the horses became so 
alarmed as to snort, which awakened the 
sentinels who were half dozing on their 
posts. “ Who ’s tl^at V’ they exclaimed. 

She had no other chance of escape but 
to seize some wood and declare, “ I am 
only getting some wood ready to cook your 
breakfast !” 

“ Who ’s that you challenge 1” exclaim- 
ed Snyder, raising up from the bed, and 
cursing Julian for causing him so much 
trouble. 

The cause having been explained, he lay 
down again, saying, “Mind, boys, some 
trick will be put upon us ; tell the old devil 
not to run distracted about breakfast, but to 
go to bed and be still.” 

Julian fell asleep; his mind recurred 
back to the days of his boyhood, to the time 
when he was first taken prisoner. At one 
moment he was haranguing a meeting of 
the people in the cause of liberty — then he 
was kneeling at the feet of St. Ille, and 
she in tears telling him that although she 
loved him, yet she could not marry him 
without the consent of her parents. At 
one time he was clambering on the top of a 
house, and it ready to fiill in ; or walking 
on the narrow edge of a precipice, and 
hanging rocks above and yawning gulfs 
below ! He would be pursued by his ene- 
mies and they ready to overtake him, and 
he gliding only a few feet from the ground, 
using his arms as wings. Next he v/ould 
be in a ball-room, with the enchanting Julia 
Armond ; and then wandering with her in 
the garden, and almost upon the verge of 
telling her that he loved her ; but some 
unseen hand withheld the power. Then 
he would be dodging from room to room 
without his clothes, and ready to be sur- 
prised by company. Next he would be 
ready to plunge into the hottest of the bat- 
tle — then his mind gradually fell into the [ 


proceedings of the previous day: his inter- 
view with Col. Conway, his rencontre 
with the Tories, the perfidy of Clannagan, 
his interview with Edir Immerson, her 
strange and mysterious conduct — had she 
arranged it for Tidder to invite him home 1 
or had she given the band who now held 
him a prisoner, such intimations as had led 
to his capture! his mind revolved half a 
dozen times this vivid conclusion. He 
would awaken and then dream it over 
again. It became a painful certainty — a 
reality — which he could not doubt. And 
thus, whether asleep or awake, it was so 
fixed, so clear, that it became a permanent 
and lasting impression. “ They are linked 
together for my destruction; see the joy 
with which the whole cavalcade was sa- 
luted, and the hasty threats were mere 
clannish feelings for a child.” He fell 
asleep with the maddening idea of having 
been betrayed by the concerted plan of the 
two old women. 

Nanny Hart waited until every thing 
was still; then going out a second time, 
cautiously crept to the corner of the house, 
and got under the floor. She succeeded in 
raising a piece of the flooring, and placing 
her hand on Julian and shaking him, gently 
whispered in his ear, “ don’t stir ! don’t 
speak ! I will deliver you ! I say, let me 
cut your strings loose; now don’t move, 
and I won’t cut your hands.” 

Julian, half asleep, yet conscious of the 
presence of one of his betrayers, flung him- 
self violently over, exclaiming, “ Go away ! 
you have betrayed me once, already ! you 
shall never betray me again.” 

From the effort which Julian made, and 
the noise, several of the soldiers were rous- 
ed up ; those at the door saw Nanny the 
second time, who had, in her great trepida- 
tion, suddenly rushed out from under the 
house, and seizing one of the horses which 
was lying down, came dragging and pull- 
ing him along, saying, “Your horse must 
be sick, for I hear him snoring and groan- 
ing very much ; give him a drink.” 

“ Ha, ha,” said Hunchback, “I ’ll be 
transmogrified if the old granny hasn’t got 
tantrum ; why mammy ! it ’s his way to 
snore and nicker in his sleep ; many a time 
I’ve been rousted to see what was the mat- 
ter with him.” 

“ You ’d better drink him, sir, for the 
cold, raw stalks of corn, have given him 
the colic ; just tilt up his head, and let me 
pour a little weak lie in his nose, or cam- 
phor or whiskey. It’s the nicest way to 
drench, and do ’nt require so much help 
neither, and the brute ’s obliged to swal- 


A T*ALE OF THE SOUTH. 


81 


low, and there’s no after coughs to be 
ruining the h6rse’s wind.” 

“ Is that old night hawk out againl” ex- 
clainied Snyder. “ Tell her to go to bed ; 
some of you rascals have given her a dram, 
and she ’s perfectly on her head, cooking 
and drenching horses. “ To bed, madam, 
to bed ! and let us take care of ourselves ; 
and you, Mr. Julian, or what not, what have 
you been tumbling the flooring about sol 
Blow the fire! harder. Legs, a litttle harder! 
Aye ! I see now, the scoundrel’s been try- 
ing to ooze out ; you infernal rascal ! I ’ve 
a great mind to stamp your skull into your 
villanous brains.” 

“No, Captain! no. Captain!” said Long- 
legs, I expect I moved the puncheons with 
my feet, as I waked with them dangling 
down the hole.” 

Julian said not a word, except that he 
was in their power, and it was not his in- 
tention to hold any conversation with them. 
“ Play out the foul plot in your own way ; 
I have nothing to ask, and care but little 
how you end it.” 

“I’ll give you to understand. Captain 
Snyder,” said Nanny Hart, recovering from 
her fright, “ that I am as free from strong 
drink, and rather further off from getting 
drunk, than yourself, or any of your brave 
and valiant soldiers ; and as I asked you 
over, because you could be more comforta- 
ble, I thought I was in duty bound to con- 
tinue to comfort man and beast, as much as 
in my power lay.” 

“Well, that’s apology enough; go to 
bed, and let man and horse sleep a little ; 
and mind, Mr. Long-legs, or spindle shanks, 
that you kick up no more puncheons, as you 
call them, to night,” said Snyder, as he 
flung himself down on the bed, first taking 
a hearty swig of spirits out of a wooden can- 
teen, which was then much in use. 

The morning at length came, and star by 
star disappeared, as the light waxed strong- 
er and stronger, in the east. The lazy and 
jaded horses stood motionless, or lay dozing 
with their heads stuck near the earth. The 
two sentinels at the door were asleep, or 
sat drowsily leaning their heads against 
the door, whilst the others lay scattered over 
the rugged floor, as if resting on couches 
of down. 

Julian lay in sullen silence, his mind 
scarcely able to comprehend the realities 
of his situation. His limbs were cramped 
and benumbed by the cords, and swelled 
until they gave him pain ; but he determin- 
ed to die, rather than ask a favor of such 
bloodhounds. 

Tidder was the first to raise a bustle ; his 


busy mind was restless, and he was unable 
to sleep. He came over and went into the 
kitchen and awakened his son and Nanny, 
then he roused up the sleeping sentinels. 
The sun shone in splendor ; the glittering 
dew drops that sparkled and flashed in its 
beams, the busy insect and the chirping 
bird, contrasted with the sleepy and slug- 
gish train, at the obscure cabin. 

■“ Up, Buck ! up, my son,” said Nanny, 
“ and let us go after water ; get a turn of 
wood, Tidder, and build a fire, I ’ve over- 
slept myself ; always the way when I am 
too anxious to make an overly early rise.” 

During the walk, Nanny, with many cau- 
tions to her nephew, told him that her plans 
were important, and that he had to act the 
part of a valiant soldier. After she had 
arranged every thing to her liking, she re- 
turned, and bringing water and having 
wood, she set busily to work, frying eggs 
and some fresh pork, roasting fresh ears of 
corn, by running them with the husks on, 
in the ashes, and frying the soft grains after 
they had been cut from the cob. 

How long the party would have contin- 
ued to sleep in the house, if Capt. Tidder 
had not got into a scrape with Hunchback 
is uncertain. It seems that the jolly Cap- 
tain had thought, as good soldiers they had 
slept long enough, and walking up to the 
sleeping sentinel, he pulled and hauled at 
him for some time, exclaiming : “ A pretty 
guard you are, sleeping and snoring on 
your posts ; I swear I could take every one 
of you prisoners. Halloo ! Capt. Snyder ! 
both of your sentinels are fast asleep. 

“ You are a most black-tongued liar,” ex- 
claimed Hunchback, a well set fellow, 
somewhat handsome, with a brown com- 
plexion, hair, and eyes, and tolerably ac- 
tive, except his deformity ; “ do ’nt you, I 
say, repeat that lie again, or I will quench 
your fire-balls with blood, you freckle-face, 
double-face scoundrel.” 

“ Well,” said the Captain, “I was part- 
ly in fun, but q,s I am dared to the thing, I 
say, sir, you were fast asleep, and I actual- 
ly surprised you on your post, and what ’s 
more, sir, Mr. Deformity Hunchback, 
war ’nt you a poor, half famished cripple, 
and if it would ’nt be too nation uncharitable 
to fall upon an invalid, I would thrash you 
until your bull hide would ’nt hold corn- 
shucks. Just give me leave, Capt. Snyder, 
to have a little rumpus, upon a fasting 
stomach, and you ’ll oblige me the balance 
of my born days, sir,” exclaimed Tidder. 

The excitement was at a great pitch ; 
those in the house became anxious to see 
the fight, they all rushed out, Snyder grin- 


82 


ONSLOW, 


ning and rubbing’ his fists, declaring that 
they should have “ a fair fight.” 

“ For God’s sake, do ’nt kick up a fuss 
right where I am cooking ! Tidder, Tidder, 
you ’re a fool, and somebody will be kill’d ; 
be ashamed of yourself, man.” 

“ No aunty ! No aunty !” shouted seve- 
ral, “ he sha ’nt be hurt, nothing but a fair 
fight.” 

“ Leave the yard, go down towards the 
spring, where I can ’t hear your oaths, for 
I ’m sure the Almighty did ’nt give us 
tongues, to make oaths and blasphemies.” 

Although Nanny Hart dreaded the fight, 
and disliked particularly to see her rela- 
tion engaged in such an affair, yet she at 
the first blush of the onset determined to 
profit by it, to let Julian escape. Every 
man, except the sentinel at the door, had 
passed down to see the fight. 

Nanny Hart watched her opportunity, 
and pretending to want some cooking uten- 
sils, she passed into the house; the sentinel, 
as she expected him to do, looked in for a 
moment, and finding her busily engaged in 
getting some pewter plates from a side cup- 
board, walked a few paces, to see the pro- 
ceedings and preparations for the pitched 
battle between the two combatants. “ Take 
this,” said Nanny, and use it, fly to the bee 
tree, and remain there two or three hours, 
or near it, and I will see you.” She point- 
ed to the opening in the floor, and to the 
woods, near the house ; it was the work of 
a moment. At that instant, a great shout 
was raised at the battle ground, and the 
sentinel was all anxiety to get a glimpse 
of the proceedings. 

Nanny, under pretence of protecting her 
nephew, snatched the gun from the senti- 
nel, determined, if necessary, to defend 
Julian; but the good natured sentinel, in- 
stead of getting another, followed her, beg- 
ging that she would return it. It was the 
precise state of things which the Amazon 
wished ; she delayed as long as she could, 
without exciting his suspicions ; then, giv- 
ing up the gun, she rushed down to the 
scene of battle, whilst the sentinel listened 
to catch the indistinct words, as they rose 
on the wind, unconscious that Julian had 
already made his escape. 

Nanny arrived just in time to attempt to 
reconcile the parties ; but Tidder was for 
battle, as Capt. Snyder had promised to be 
his second ; and Hunchback was determined 
to be revenged, because his character, as a 
soldier, had been “ aspersed.” His second 
was a tall, bulky, tallow-faced youth, about 
twenty years of age, and had, on several 
occasions during the evening, declared him- 


self the best man in the Clannagan regi- 
ment. Snyder had paid attention to the 
boast, and was the more ready from this 
circumstance, to volunteer as Tidder’s sec- 
ond. 

The principals and seconds were stripped, 
ready for the combat, having thrown off all 
incumbrances except their pantaloons, a 
ring was struck, and each second stood 
ready to see justice done. 

“Fair play’s the word, Mr. Second,” 
said Snyder. 

“ Fair play, back again,” said the second 
of Hunchback, slapping his fist in his hand, 
and running his arm at full length, with an 
air of defiance. 

The two combatants looked unutterable 
things, and said many, which can never be 
recorded. 

“ Ready 1” asked Snyder. 

“Yes,” was the reply of the other sec- 
ond. 

The principals ran back a few paces, and 
Hunchback doubling himself, and dropping 
his head, gave Tidder a most terrible 
shock, which flung him prostrate on the 
earth, 

“ Foul play,” exclaimed Snyder. “ Foul 
play.” 

“ It’s a lie ! and a ddrnation one to 
boot,” replied the other second, “ even if 
Capt. Snyder should say it.” 

Snyder laughed aloud, ending in a sar- 
castic and bitter smile. His eyes sparkled 
and he jumped up violently in the air, ex- 
claiming, 

“ Buffalo nor tiger, bear nor panther in 
America, white, red, nor black, on four 
feet, nor two feet, even on this ground, 
shall say as much to me without a genteel 
dressing, or an apology : so, sir, you have 
your choice.” 

“ A whipping first, and a whipping last ; 
I ’m not one of those English sort, who get 
out of a fight by apologizing and palaver- 
ing ; so make ready.” 

The two seconds now went to work in 
good earnest ; blow after blow fell like the 
heavy stroke of the sledge hammer on the 
tough and unyielding iron ; a gush of blood 
from the nose or lip, or the oozing from the 
scalps, showed on each where the blows 
had fallen. At length, panting and almost 
exhausted, they closed with each other. 
Snyder was too active and was uppermost 
in the fall, but his strong and athletic oppo- 
nent, with violent exertions, turned him, 
and suddenly catching an arm under each 
knee, he thrust a thumb in each of Snyder’s 
eyes. 

“ Part them ! part them ! don’t gouge 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


83 


out his eyes, Jake Adams ! Save our Cap- 
tain’s peepers.” 

“Why don’t he halloo thenl Why 
don’t he give tongue 1” 

Tidder had fortunately disposed of his 
antagonist by biting, gouging and scratch- 
ing him, and rolling and kicking him down 
tlie hill, at such a rate that he gave up the 
contest. He then pounced upon the oppo- 
nent of Snyder, and running his hands 
round his forehead, fastened them in his 
eyes ; the effect was instantaneous. Jake 
rose like an angfy bull, and shaking off 
Tidder, would have crushed him beneath 
his uplifted foot, but Nanny Hart’s power- 
ful arm interposed, as she commanded 
peace. 

“ Peace, I say ! here you are fighting, 
and you ’ve left the prisoner at the house 
with no one to guard him,” 

The sentinel had just run back to take a 
peep at the scene. 

“ I ’ll warrant you have let him escape. 
Why don’t you command the peace. Squire 
Legs,” said Nanny. 

“ Peace ! peace ! I say in the name of 
King George.” 

The sentinel who was left in charge ran 
back, and was seen to hesitate, then to 
walk around the house. 

“ The prisoner’s gone, you fighting bul- 
lies,” exclaimed Nanny, putting on a most 
dolorous face. “ Is this tlie way the pains 
and trouble I take is to be rewarded!” 

Snyder cursed the Americans, and swore 
all were a foul gouging race of wild beasts. 

“ Look to your prisoner. Captain,” said 
Nanny, 

“ Look to hell ! I can’t see a wink.” 

“ Hurra ! for Capt. Snyder and big fight- 
ing little Timmy Tidder,” shouted the 
principal as he walked up and down the 
battle ground, whilst Hunchback and his 
second walked off under pretence to see 
about the escape of the prisoner. A fruit- 
less effort was made to trace him up ; two 
or three caught their horses and scoured 
about after him, but returned witliout hav- 
ing discovered the road he had taken. 

Great clamor was raised against the sen- 
tinel, and some few ventured to hint some 
. little suspicion against Nanny Hart, but 
tlie sentinel readily put them to rights on 
that subject, declaring that he watched her 
the whole time she was in the house, and 
that she never went nearer than the cup- 
board. 

“ No !” ho exclaimed, “ no body ’s to 
blame, but the fighting men, for who could 
stand and see a battle raging and not take 
part, when his cousin and captain were in 


it; and you all know that Jake Adams is 
my own cousin; and it’s well that I left 
there, for he might have shot me, forted in 
as he was, with all the guns to boot.” 

Nanny Hart paid not the slightest at- 
tention to the accusation, but engaged 
heartily preparing breakfast, whilst the 
wounded washed their wounds and made 
such applications as were suggested, some 
using water and others a little whiskey and 
gunpowder. 

Snyder issued orders to get the horses 
ready to take another chase after the rebel. 
“ I ’ll have him yet, or I ’ll ride to hell after 
him.” 

Every soldier, now that the captive had 
escaped, held fast to his gun and other 
weapons. Breakfast was announced, and 
they had got fairly engaged, when Nanny 
suddenly picking up a horn said that she 
must blow for her nephew to bring them 
water. 

With the utmost consternation she flew 
back, and commanded the band to come to 
the door. “Don’t you hear horses’ feet! 
listen, listen ! — there, there ! Again, there 
— there again ! — five ! six ! seven !” 

“ Coldfire and his men,” said Jake 
Adams. 

“ And pray who is Coldfire!” asked Sny- 
der gruffly. 

“ Why he who hung so many regular 
soldiers lately,” said Nanny, looking wild, 
whilst her extraordinary countenance added 
new horrors to the spectators. 

Again the horses’ feet clattered over the 
sounding flat rocks, as if in a brisk gait ; 
presently a tremendous shout was heard. 

Snyder and his squad filled their pockets 
with such materials as they could snatch 
from the table, and started out at the oppo- 
site side of the field, from whence the clat- 
tering feet and shouts arose, at a full 
gallop. 

The shouts continued for some length of 
time, until Nanny Hart could run up to the 
place, which was some three or four hun- 
dred yards. 

The reader will readily imagine, that 
Nanny’s advice to little Buck in the morn- 
ing, was connected with the present up- 
roar ; the fact was, Nanny was one of those 
bold and daring women, who, when an en- 
terprise was to be carried, stood but little 
upon personal danger. She had directed 
her nephew to get the pony, and to gather 
the children, three or four of the largest, 
with his mother, and when she blew the 
horn, to raise a general shout, whilst he 
galloped rapidly to and fro over a flat and 
hollow sounding rock, which lay in the 


84 


ONSLOW, 


path, believing that she could so alarm the 
Tories as to cause them to leave Julian ; 
having determined to get between them 
and their arms and fight it out if it became 
necessary. But good luck so happened in 
bringing up the pitched battle, that she at 
once embraced that opportunity, and only 
allowed the present farce to be enacted in 
order to prevent the detection of her plot 
through the imprudence of the children or 
of Tidder ; and withal she was anxious to 
get them from the neighborhood so long as 
Julian was near it. 

Nanny ordered her new regiment imme- 
diately home, whilst she brought the pony, 
and told Tidder to go at once to Clanna- 
gan’s camp, and let him know of the escape 
of Julian. “ For,” continued she, “ people 
are very uncertain now-a-days ; and you 
may be blamed behind your back about the 
escape of the prisoner; when I know you 
are an innocent man, and was actually 
fighting on the account of the neglect of 
tlie sentinel. First words make the first 
mind, you know, Tidder, and I will advise 
you to lose not a moment until you see 
Clannagan; and if you wish any thing, 
just say not a word to any body at home ; 
but get off as quick as possible.” 

Tidder prepared to obey the advice, hav- 
ing been but little hurt in the battle, and 
coming off victor. He sat down and de- 
spatched a breakfast much to his own sa- 
tisfaction. As he was departing he said, 

“ Now Aunt Nanny, did’nt I keep up my 
titles to a fraction 1 Did you ever read of 
a more complete route even amongst the 
Philistines 1” 

“Never, Tidder, never; but mind and 
get back as soon as you can ; we shall all 
look for you this very night.” 

“ Don’t be uneasy ; you know I ’m Clan- 
nagan’s particular express rider ; and since 
1 ’ve been so lucky as to take a prisoner and 
fought about it, he may have great matters 
for me yet.” 

“ A pretty good morning’s work this,” 
said Nanny to herself, as she prepared to 
gather up the fragments of the breakfast, 
placing them in a basket. “ I wonder if 
Col. Cunningham and Col. Clark would’nt 
laugh when I go up into Wilkes and tell 
of this matter 1 and I rather think I ’ll be 
off up there shortly ; for if I get found out, 
perhaps my petticoats may not exactly pro- 
tect me.” 

After she had arranged her household 
affairs, she took her basket and cautiously 


pursued her way to the bee tree, which 
stood a little distance from the road, and 
giving a signal Julian soon appeared. 

“ You were a pretty fellow last night, to 
be abusing me and trying to get my neck 
crack’d,” said Nanny, shaking Julian by 
the hand most cordially, 

Julian stated his dream as an excuse. 

“I thought so, and more; we don’t know 
who to trust, but here’s your breakfast ; 
find a convenient place, and be sure not to 
leave here until I return, even if it be 
night, for I must go over to Tidder’s ; good 
morning and good luck until I see you 
again, when I shall tell you of the whole 
scheme of your escape.” 

“ But, madam,” said Julian, “ I dislike 
this state of crouching and hiding about 
the country like a culprit, why not let me 
know the direction to Col. Tarleton’s or 
some British post, where I can gain pro- 
tection or be treated as a prisoner V’ 

“ Because you will be murdering your- 
self by such hairbrain’d foolery ; if I may 
say as much to a man of your sense. The 
lady who left you in my charge has gone, 
no doubt, to reconnoitre and peruse the 
country, and you had better remain where 
you will be safe.” 

“ Let me have Mr. Tidder, or get direc- 
tions towards Mrs. Wittingham’s from him, 
and I can go on without waiting for the 
uncertain movements of that strange wo- 
man.” 

The departure of Tidder was fully de- 
tailed, and all the whole morning’s affair, 
with all the probable consequences which 
would result from so rash a step as the one 
which Julian proposed to take; and he at 
length agreed to wait until tlie next morn- 
ing before he took any final determination 
as to the course he would pursue. He was 
led to this conclusion by the evident good 
will which Nanny Hart had shown for his 
personal safety, as well as from the inex- 
plicable course which the events of the few 
preceding days had taken. 

Having come to this conclusion, and as- 
sured withal by his kind friend, that every 
movement which might transpire should 
be instantly reported, he was directed to a 
sequestered spot, and such signals agreed/ 
upon as should not mislead or betray him. 
With these arrangements, he departed as 
directed, after having in the most heartfelt 
mariner expressed his deep and lasting 
gratitude for his deliverance from his sa- 
vage enemies. 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


85 


CHAPTER XX. 

The time when screech-owls cry and ban-dogs howl ; 
AVhcn spirits walk and ghosts break up their graves. 

Henry VI. 

The hateful messenger of heavy things, 

Of death and dolor telling. — Knapp. 

The valiant Capt. Tidder lost no time in 
striking for the encampment of Col. Clan- 
nagan, who, for the convenience of obtain- 
ing provisions, occupied, for the present, a 
stand at the house of a partisan by the 
name of Morris Watts, who was more 
anxious to get money than he was to see 
the cause of the king succeed. Tidder ar- 
rived there about twelve o’clock, and found 
most of the men absent ; either gone home, 
or out on scouting parties, plundering and 
harassing the inhabitants, as their pecu- 
liar inclinations of revenge or gain stimu-, 
lated them. He inquired for Col. Clanna- 
gan. 

“ Tell him to come in,” said the Colonel. 

“Tidder, where’s the express'? — did he 
meet with any accident? — wa she taken 
up?” Tidder was too full of important 
matters and his secret mission to speak be- 
fore any one. 

“ I will tell your lordship very much, sir, 
if you will only clear the house of that sca- 
taloper.” 

“ Interloper, Tidder, you mean,” said 
Clannagan, mingling a little good humor 
with the expression of his usually cold and 
steady countenace — “ never mind that per- 
son ; he is a friend and one of the great 
men of the world, knows astronomy, and is 
a great worker in metals, a very warm 
enemy of the Waldens, and swears venge- 
ance against the whole race ; he tells me 
he has been to see Col. Conway, and that 
he wishes to get him to engage in his 
scheme ; but you know well enough, Capt. 
Tidder, that he countenances the rebel 
cause, or else he would not suffer his son 
to stay at old Walden’s, who is as poison- 
ous against us as a rattlesnake. And what’s 
more, Conway will wheedle and cajole 
with him, until he gets his money and then 
he may shift for himself. 

“ Yes, Colonel, there aint one word of 
what you say, but what is the truth, and 
the whole truth, so help me God, as the 
lawyers say.” 

“I’ll see him,” said the mineralogist, 
(for it was he who was in conversation with 
the Colonel,) “ in the lowest depths of to- 
phet, before I will be made a tool of ; and 
he and his family shall rue the day that 
they crossed the path of one who has it in 

7 


his power to sink their name as low as hell 
itself can sink it.” 

“ Tidder, you recollect what you told me, 
that old Cato told you about ?” 

“ What,” said the mineralogist, “ dost 
thou. Col. Clannagan, converse on matters 
of such moment to the country with the idle 
gossips of the times? Mark me. Colonel, 
secrecy as deep as death — fidelity as strict 
as truth, or the whole scheme will be flung 
to the winds — none but those who can be 
relied on, and they noble — what! such a 
scheme, and such a complete overthrow of 
pride and pomp! hint not to man that 
breathes what I promised to bring to light.” 

“You understand the bargain? It is 
solemn and sacred on my part,” said the 
mineralogist. 

“It shall be kept with more strictness 
hereafter.” 

The mineralogist then took up his draw- 
ings and books, and various specimens of 
native metals, and retired, stating to the 
Colonel, that he was ready to enter into the 
prosecution of his great plans whenever 
the necessary arrangements could be made. 

“ Yes, I’ll use you first,” said Col. Clan- 
nagan, looking earnestly at the solemn and 
stern man as he slowly departed from the 
room to arrange his all-absorbing scheme 
of establishing a vast apparatus for the pro- 
curement of the precious metals. 

“ Well, I suppose, Tidder, that the fel- 
low, has met, or will soon have his just 
deserts; you look as if you had just such 
news to convey; for Edir Immerson in her 
wanderings has been here, and says that 
they had the fellow snug enough, not far 
from your house. I wonder the men don’t 
come along with him, if they have not al- 
ready despatched him.” 

Judge of the exulting feelings of revenge 
suddenly disappointed ; the prize snatched 
from the grasp of an infuriated man. 

“And have you the impudence to tell 
me, that Hunchback, and Jake Adams, and 
Snyder have let him escape; that Tie has 
nearly murdered McQuirk, and t’hat Cold- 
fire was in pursuit of my men !” 

“ All too true, Col. Clannagan ; I saw and 
heard the chase.” 

“ There’s a traitor in our camp, Tidder 
— there’s a Judas Iscariot who sells his 
country and his king for money. Get 
ready instantly to carry an express to Col. 
Tarleton and Notwood ; we must have a 
surgeon ; for, as for String Halt, he’s too 
fond of dilly-dallying. I did promise that 
half-distracted, wandering woman, to try 
to get down in the neighborhood of Mcll- 
haney’s and prevent any mischief from our 


86 


ONSLOW, 


irregular lads; but now, I hope in God 
they may root out Bucklebelt, Walden, and 
the whole infernal kit and boiling.” 

“You say there’s Indians about, Col- 
onel V’ 

“No! no! you cowardly fool; none in 
this neighborhood — not one within seventy 
miles of your road. Get ready ; will you 
have a new horse 1 say it, and you can be 
supplied.” 

“ It’s a dangerous business. Colonel ; but 
as I’ve fought hard on account of the mat- 
ter, I’m willing to ride — although, God 
knows. I’ve made but mighty little, whilst 
many have made their thousands, who 
hav’nt done one thousandth part that I 
have.” 

“Talk another time — get ready imme- 
diately ; you can have a fresh horse whilst 
I get my letters ready.” 

“None but Light- wood-knot forks my 
legs for me ; it ’s rather ticklish times when 
Ingins are about, and I ’ll warrant that 
ther ’s mischief brewing, or else that infernal 
tall woman would not be sauntering and 
tramping about here ; and I begin to think 
that fellar the Squire is’nt half as good as 
he pretends to be.” Thus muttered Tidder 
as he was preparing to get ready for his 
new trip. 

“ Mind that you converse with no one, 
and allow of no interrogatories, for I must 
have Dr. Cain to McQuirk, and that fellow 
Onslow must be taken ; for he has broken 
his parole, and taken up arms against us,” 
said Clannagan, as he parted with his ex- 
press rider. Tidder had time, however, to 
peep into the kitchen and snatch up a few 
hard boiled eggs and a roasting ear ; and 
even the good Mrs. Watts was kind enough 
to exchange a little spirits for a bit of 
silver. 

Edir Immerson, as has been noticed, 
called upon Clannagan after the capture 
of Julian, and had satisfactorily ascertained 
his feelings towards him. She obtained a 
pledge that he should not be immediately 
executed, but she was significantly advised 
to return to the frontier settlement, whence 
she stated she had lately come. Full of 
apprehensions for the fate of Julian, she 
was returning according to promise to 
Nanny Hart’s, when she espied Tidder. 
Concealing herself, she waited until he 
departed on his mission ; he had not passed 
from the plantation more? than a quarter of 
a mile, when she struck in just behind 
him, and calling after him inquired his 
route and his business. 

Tidder, though professing to be in a great 
hurry, stopped to converse, and to explain 


the whole matter, not forgetting to speak 
of his own battle, and to take a hearty 
swig of whiskey, which he offered to Edir, 
who courteously declined his offer. 

“ Good-bye, madam, and I am not so na- 
tion sure but what you an’d your frontier ac- 
quaintance, Aunt Nanny, had a hand in 
his sneaking out of the house.” 

Edir denied having any knowledge of 
his escape or the manner in which it was 
effected. ' 

“ But why say so, man 1” 

“ Because in the first time in her life 
she smiled and looked half handsome-like 
out of her cross-eyes, and praised me for 
my hard fight and carryings-on, that ’s 
what makes me think so, but mind I don’t 
say it.” 

. Edir became more anxious to know the 
nature of Tidder’s communications to 
Tarleton. 

“ It ’s only to head and watch and catch 
the poor young fellow, that’s all, and to 
send a Dr. up after M cQuirk ; what if you 
go up to the Wittingham place with mel” 

“ Part of the way ; I ’.ve other business 
for the night besides sleeping there,” re- 
plied Edir. 

The two travelers kept up a constant 
conversation, and Edir tried on several oc- 
casions to obtain a look at the package, 
and even proposed to turn back from the 
pursuit of the journey and return to Tid- 
der’s house, but he was inflexible. 

They passed several plantations mainly 
inhabited by the Tories; or such as had 
taken but little interest in the conflict. 
At length they came to a house where 
Edir proposed to stay for the night ; but 
Tidder replied that if it took all night he 
must fulfill his mission. 

“ Where do you cross the river V’ asked 
Edir. 

“ At the double ford, madam, and good 
luck and good night to you,” said Tidder, 
as he was about to set off alone. \ 

“ Stay until the moon is up, man, your 
pony has traveled all day, and wait until 
the moon gives you light. It will be two 
hours, and then you will be ready for the 
road.” 

This advice met his approbation, and ho 
concluded to obey it, not however without 
some observations on his hard mode of life, 
and the necessity of punctuality in one who 
was an express. 

The people where they stopped took no 
interest in their business. The family con- 
sisted of a young looking man and woman, 
and a little child, and they seemed too 
much at ease to ask or care much for the 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


87 


war or our travelers ; a coarse repast was 
placed before Tidder and Edir. Tidder 
after supper went out and fed his pony, 
saying that he must not forget liim. A 
few oats and a few corn stalks and blades 
were all that he could procure. 

“ You are still in the land of the living, 
aunty V' said the young man. 

“ Yes,’^ was the reply, “ and I wish you 
to wake up the gentleman, who is on busi- 
ness from Clannagan to a king’s olRcer, 
wake him up at moon rise, I must depart 
on my own business.” 

“ Good night, Mr. Tidder, I wish you 
good luck,” said Edir, as she glided out of 
the house. 

“ Good night to you, and good luck to 
boot likewise, madam — and if you pass our 
way, do give me a call,” said Tidder, as he 
turned down a chair, and threw himself 
down in the passage between the two 
rooms to sleep a few hours. 

At the appointed hour the express arose 
full of apprehensions ; the heavens, which 
had been clear, began to be overcast with 
heavy masses of clouds, and scuds drifted 
rapidly before them ; distant thunder, which 
seemed to be under the earth, shook and 
jarred the house and its loose furniture. 

“It’s no use,” said Tidder, “to fret — 
but I ’m to see the mischief this very night. 
Listen ! gather ! yes, that ’s the signal for 
the clouds to gather.” 

His pathway lay in a dense flat country ; 
the whizzing musquitoes and other flies kept 
Tidder awake. The moon could scarcely 
pierce the clouds, and the thick over- 
growth so effectually excluded the light, 
which occasionally escaped between the 
chasms of the clouds, that it was not of the 
least service. The owl hooted, and the 
distant howl of the wolf, or the bark of the 
fox, added no little to the intensity of Tid- 
der’s feelings. The little pony, fatigued, 
and perhaps sympathizing with the state of 
his master’s feelings, would often spring 
forward as if alarmed. After plunging 
along a mile or two in mud, now up and 
then down, brushing against a tree, or get- 
ting his hat knocked off several times, and 
groping about for it, Tidder at length be- 
gan to hear the splashing of the river. 
The thick clouds grew thicker, the loud 
and distant thunder began to roar more 
like the discharge of cannon. 

“ A pretty poor devil, to be breaking my 
neck about Whigs and Tories; this is the 
last time that I ’m ever caught in such a 
pickle !” 

Saying this, the palpitating rider kicked 
and urged his horse into the stream, at- 


tempting to recollect the ford as a vivid 
flash of lightning glanced upon his vision; 
shivering from alarm he emerged from the 
first rapid plunge, and much to his relief 
gained a shallower place. The ford was 
but little known to the express — it was 
full of rocks and swift sluices of water; 
the river contained an island of considera- 
ble length, and during the ravages of the 
freshets, the road across the island had 
been washed out, so as to cause the water 
to communicate on either side. Not long 
after Tidder entered the ford, he found his 
horse pulled down the stream — ever and 
anon he heard the deep sighs and groans 
of distress, mingling with the hoarse lash- 
ings of the shoals. The flashes of light- 
ning were so vivid, as almost to overpower 
the sight, and the indistinct ford, foam and 
trees of the island floated in dim confusion 
in the mind of the traveler. Gathering a 
little courage, he ventured to strike his 
faithful pony, but the stumbling and plung- 
ing amongst the rocks, proved that there 
was more danger than advantage in the 
effort at haste. As the thick massy clouds 
rolled up, muttering and bellowing, a tem- 
porary break in the cloud showed the 
moon ; for an instant, hope brightened on 
the vision as the entrance to the island 
was distinctly seen. Tidder looked be- 
hind him — he was petrified, and almost 
senseless for a moment. He became 
reckless, and was ready to desert his 
beast. Awful sight ! He beheld a tall 
figure fast hold of the pony’s tail, and 
covered in white ! No head ! no eyes ! 
but a moving lump, which clung to him I 
There it was — close to him ! He looked 
again ere the moon disappeared — he be- 
came frantic, and fired his horseman’s pis- 
tols at random. Far and near above the 
monotonous roar of the shoals re-echoed the 
sound — a loud scream, like the hungry pan- 
ther’s, answered the report. 

“ Oh, Lord God Almighty ! have mercy 
on me ! Protect me ftom Indians, and 
ghosts, and panthers !” 

Thick darkness set in— a rustling and 
howling wind swept the forest, and a few 
large drops of rain began to fall. 

Tidder entered the narrow road of the 
island — he had now passed over the most 
difiicult part of the ford, except that the 
remainder was deepest — he had moved on 
silently, and he hoped he would soon be 
able to get on the other side, when sud- 
denly he felt a heavy weight pounce upon 
his pony ! It seized him by the shoulders ! 

“Oh, Lord! don’t scalp me! In the 
name of Saint Peter ! In the name of the 


88 


ONSLOW, 


Trinity ! If thou art a ghost, let me off — 
and I will mend my way ! I will join the 
first church I come across !” 

A loud and remarkably shrill voice, dur- 
ing the temporary pause in the sound of 
the thunder, sung close to Tidder’s ears — 

“ Beware ! beware ! of a bending tree — 

It stoops ! it stoops to the earth for thee ; 

The head pops up, and the breath pops out, 

The feet and hands they dangle about. 

“ Beware ! beware ! of a goblin’s gripe, 

It feels the neck to see if it ’s ripe 

For the rope which stops the traitor’s breath. 

And gives the wretch to the arms of death !” 

Tidder soon felt the gripe — it grew 
stronger and stronger — until nearly ex- 
hausted, he tumbled down, and horse and 
rider rolled over each other. Insensible, 
and nearly half drowned, Tidder threw out 
his arm instinctively, and catching the 
mane, was dragged out of the river. 
When he had somewhat recovered, he 
found his faithful beast standing a little 
way from him. The storm now raged, and 
the torrent which fell helped to dispel the 
fears of the unfortunate express. It was 
the extreme of pleasure to hear the wind 
and rain, compared to the tortures he had 
undergone in the river; but the brain of 
the little soldier was nearly upset. He 
mounted at the first interval in the storm, 
and sung — 

‘ Beware ! beware ! of a bending tree !’ 

“And I’m to be hung yet — what a 
mean death to die — and be strung up like 
Coldfire did the negro stealers. 

‘ The head pops up and the breath pops out !’ 

“Yes, quick work! I saw one poor 
devil swung with his great black tongue 
run out of his mouth. 

‘Beware! beware! of a goblin’s gripe !’ 

“It’s the ghost of McQuirk, because I 
did n’t guard his murderer myself. Some 
Indian is buried hereabouts, for yonder is 
one of their mounds ; and there ’s not a flat 
rich piece of land on a river, from salt water 
to the mountains, that has n’t one of them 
high hills where they bury their dead, set- 
ting right straight up, -with their guns and 
tomahawks.” 

Fortunately, the storm passed off, and the 
little rider had moonlight sufficient to carry 
him without any mishaps of the road ; he 
gradually mended his pace in proportion as 
his path became plainer, until he got into 
a brisk gallop, which he kept until he rode 
up to the nearest liouse^-a kind of office or 


out-house, which Mrs. Wittingham had 
appropriated for a sleeping room. 

“ Halloa ! house-keepers ! McQuirk is 
dead, and Colonel Clannagan says that 
Doctor Cain must go and see him imme- 
diately.” 

“Then, pray,” answered the worthy 
Doctor, who happened to be sleeping in 
the room, “ do you or the Colonel suppose 
me gifted with the power of miracles'? 
If he is dead, apply to the coffin-maker.” 

“ The head pops up and the breath pops out. 

The feet and hands they dangle about.” 

“Was he hung, my good friend ?” anxi- 
ously inquired the Doctor. 

“ For the rope which stops the traitor’s breath. 
And gives the wretch to the arms of death.*” 

“ Where’s the great Colonel Tarleton 
and Major Notwood'?” asked Tidder, as 
he finished the last distich. “ I ’m on mo- 
mentous business. I’ve been ghost-rid- 
den, scalped and drowned — choked until 
my neck was black as my hat, and I 
could n’t bat an eyelid.” 

“ Ay ! we have had a dreadful night of 
it, my friend,” said the Doctor, a little be- 
wildered by the uncommon salutation and 
extravagant conduct of Tidder. “ The 
principles which actuate the winds and 
the clouds are not as well understood as 
some other subjects — but better, I think, 
than the subject of mania-a-potu^ madness 
from whiskey, or any other kind of strong 
drink, which seems to be the prevailing 
vice of this country. Captain Gant, I say !” 
said the Doctor, who turned to address 
him, lying in another bed — “This man 
hath an incipient distemper, verging upon 
mania furibunda — he must be taken in 
the first stage, the premonitory symptoms. 
Bleeding, abstinence, rest, the full anti- 
phlogistic regimen rigidly and religiously 
observed may do him good, and then the 
regimen mentis — ” 

“ What regiment do I belong to? I’ll 
tell you. Doctor, or whoever you are — to 
the Bloody Scouts — the Dare-Devil Dra- 
goons — the Torch Troopers — and to-night, 
sir, I’ve joined the Water-Witch Regi- 
ment !” 

“ This man now needs a- straight-jacket, 
Captain Gant — for no man of his mean 
abilities — for I judge from his looks, his 
appearance, and his pronunciation — unless 
in a phrenzy could alliterate so well. It is 
even so with ‘ moody madness,’ ” said the 
Doctor, as he called up one of the servants, 
to inform Colonel Tarleton of the arrival 
of a strange express in camp. 


A TALE OP THE SOUTH. 


69 


The unfortunate express kept constantly 
whistling- his song, whenever he got an op- 
portunity. 

“ I had a letter,” said Tidder, after he 
was carried to the parlor where Notwood 
and Tarleton had gone, “ for you, but the 
Indian or ghost has so tormented me that 
it is lost or stolen — but I know what was 
in it — the Colonel told me, so that in case 
of an accident I might n’t come with my 
finger in my mouth. 

‘ Beware ! beware ! of the goblin’s gripe, 

It feels the neck to see if it ’s ripe.’ 

Beg pardon — I ’m almost distracted with 
the song which the ghost sung in my ears ; 
but the fact is. Colonel Clannagan wants 
you to catch Coldfire and that spy, for the 
Squire has joined the other party, and, be- 
sides, he has killed McQuirk — and Colonel 
Clannagan wants Doctor Cain to go to 
Colonel Conway’s immediately — I’m to 
show him the way — and there’s to be a 
dinner there, besides, for you all ; so my 
friend Cato Walden told me — and, besides, 
there are Indians in the country, for I have 
seen one, and heard their yells this very 
night.” 

“ What ’s to be done, Doctor I” asked 
Colonel Tarleton, as the Doctor came wad- 
dling into the room ; “ can you go to Col. 
Conway’s immediately 1” 

“ Do go immediately,” said Notwood, 
“ for I fear McQuirk is very ill.” 

“This same express, gentlemen,” said 
the Doctor, “ is laboring under a disease of 
the imagination; perhaps from alcoholic 
potations, and therefore leans towards 
scenes of violence; and it is likely that 
he hath been engaged in some angry alter- 
cation, or been privy to deeds which are 
unbefitting a tender conscience — his ner- 
vous temperament works upon it, and 
hence his incoherent and unnatural sen- 
tences.” 

“ A trick has been played upon us — 
some one has made the fellow drunk and 
stolen his letters, and frightened him half 
to death with a song about ghosts and In- 
dians. But what is to be done 1” asked 
Tarleton of Notwood — “ Is there any like- 
lihood that the Indians will fall upon the 
settlements'? and if they do, will they 
discriminate between our fViends and 
foesl” 

“Never fear. Colonel Tarleton — that 
matter will be controlled by Colonel Clan- 
nagan and several of his secret agents.” 

“ And what think you of your friend, 
Julian Onslow"? It seems that he has 
joined Coldfire,” said Tarleton. 


“ My uncle’s money is pocketed,” re- 
plied Notwood. 

“ Complexion fair, hair brown-black, nse- 
vsB materna?, &c. I have him here safe 
enough,” said the Doctor, showing his 
book of registration. 

“ Mind that he does not register you,” 
replied Tarleton. 

It was finally determined that a ser- 
geant and several men should scour the 
country, and that Doctor Cain and Tidder 
should start as soon as they could get ready. 
The little guide became more calm, and 
conversed more at ease whilst in the pre- 
sence of the officers ; but he no sooner got 
out than he began his everlasting song — 

“ Beware! beware of a bending tree, 

It stoops ! it stoops to the earth for thee !” 


CHAPTER XXL 

Proofs rise on proofs, and still the last the strongest. 

The Revenge. 

Julian still remained at his hiding place 
in the care of Nanny Hart, who had learned 
from him that he was raised in Philadel- 
phia, but had no knowledge of his parent- 
age, and that he now was determined to 
return to the camp of Tarleton, or fall in 
with some respectable Whig family, and 
remain neutral until he had an opportunity 
of being exchanged. 

“ Neck or nothing!” said Julian, as he 
lay near a small rippling stream pointed 
out to him by little Buck, who had, as soon 
as his aunt informed him of Julian’s hiding 
place, repaired to the spot with his gun, 
and was now but a few hundred yards dis- 
tant, watching the squirrels as they were 
hopping from tree to tree after the differ- 
ent green fruits. “Neck or nothing! I’U 
go to their camp, or I will go to Walden’s, 
or Mrs. Grayson’s. This suspense must 
end, and it must end this day.” 

It was about ten o’clock, the next day 
after his escape — he and his little com- 
panion had traversed the woods and streams, 
and he had come back, and was indulging 
in the above train of thoughts, when his 
watchings and previous fatigue brought 
sleep to his eyes. 

He fell into a long train of acute reason- 
ing ; the mind exercised its faculties vivid- 
ly; he debated the propriety of disregard- 
ing the parole after the treatment he had. 
ex°perienced from the friends of the king 
The laws of honor, personal safety, and a 


90 


ONSLOW, 


gleam of affection seemed to contend for 
the mastery. 

At one time he saw St. Ille, frightenod, 
and flying to him for protection — then he 
would be on trial for a breach of his parole 
— at another time he thought he saw the 
tall athletip figure of Edir, her fierce eyes 
burning in an ecstasy of rage, and telling 
a band of heartless Tories to “ seize him 
then the savage massacre, then the yells 
of the victors and the groans of the dying ! 
In wild alarm Julian sprang to his feet, no 
longer able to withstand the deep agony of 
feelings — when behold ! Edir Immerson 
stood before him ! 

“ What, man ! fighting and taking in 
your sleep, and making love — ‘ Sweet St. 
Ille !’ Tell me, where does she dwell 1 
whose child 1 Perhaps I may aid thee in 
seeing her ; but mind, thou art to act the 
part of honor, of justice, for thy sex are 
false and treacherous.” 

“ I have no claims on any one — an out- 
cast and w^anderer. I suppose I must have 
mentioned the name of St. Ille Grayson, 
whom I knew in Philadelphia.” 

“ Thither I am going, to warn them 
against the bloody scout !” 

“ Good God ! is there a scheme laid to 
massacre defenceless women and chil- 
dren!” 

“It will be so — let. us hasten to warn 
them — we must be up, and must derange 
their plans. Read that !” said Edir^ hand- 
ing him a letter directed to Col. Tarleton 
or to Major Not wood. 

“ It is sealed, and I am not authorized to 
open it.” 

“ Ay ! for crime too young — they would 
not hesitate to plunge the dagger to thy 
heart ! and if you are afraid to read it, I 
will read it, and let you profit by its con- 
tents.” 

“ At Morris Watls\ 

“ Dear Colonel — 

“ I have just this minute heard of the 
infamous conduct of that rebel Onslow — 
he has joined Coldfire, previously attempt- 
ing the life of my friend McQuirk ; he has 
been taken, but owing to the squabbles and 
insubordination of some of our men, he has 
made his escape, 

“ Tell Col. Notwood that his conjectures 
are verified from two distinct sources. 
There is some great scheme on foot, and 
he is, no doubt, secretly working our de- 
struction. Just recollect his whole career 
since his first landing in this State ! I 
claim the right of deciding on his conduct, 
and if he is taken I shall be able to bring 


forward sufficient proof of all that I have 
written. Send a strong detachment in the 
Walden neighborhood. Marion or Sump- 
ter will be up shortly, from the best hints 
that I can gather. There is great discon- 
tent at the proclamations, but we must 
stick the closer to their requisitions. Much 
more at sight — but at present subscribe 
myself, 

“ Yours, most obediently, 

“ In haste, 

“B. C. 

“P. S. — By the hand of Timothy Tid- 
der.” 

“Who was thy frail mother?” asked 
Edir, grasping her hand on his shoulder, 
and looking earnestly at the countenance 
of Julian. 

Julian mused over the contents of the 
letter, but suddenly recollecting the ques- 
tion, looked at Edir. 

“ Yes — yes ! Look at the glance of the 
eagle when half surprised by his foe, quick 
— sudden, as the flash of the red lightning ! 
Tell me, who was thy mother ?” 

“Indeed, I know not, kind woman ; but 
you have acted more like one to me, than 
any other has for many a long day.” 

“ You know not, then ? You may be the 
child of shame ! Your father, then ?” 

“ Alas ! I am as ignorant of him as of 
my mother,” said Julian, walking to and 
fro in a deep abstracted manner. 

The frame of man may be compared to a 
volcano, and a close observer can see the 
outward signs of the coming convulsions, 
the dim mists which hang over the brow of 
the mountain ; the gleam of false lights, 
the trembling and shaking of the earth, the 
indistinct sounds, the flashes of fire, the 
explosion, the desolation, are not unlike 
the gloom of the brow, the twitchings of 
the face, the smile of scorn, the burning 
eye, and the wild resolution to “do or 
die !” 

Such now was the situation of Julian,; 
the contents of the letter at first roused a 
temporary feeling of indignation, the hint 
at his despicable intentions. And then 
the baseness of attempting to beguile him. 
The fiendish hypocrisy, too, of Notwood; 
one who had professed so much friendship, 
leagued with Clannagan to keep a con- 
stant watch over him ! Every incident 
added new vigor to each burning thought. 
The projected trip up the country, the visit 
to Col. Conway’s, and then the course of 
Clannagan’s men — his letter — Edir’s ques- 
tion. “ I am fatherless, motherless, friend- 
less,” exclaimed Julian, suddenly stopping 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


91 


and looking at Edir. “ It is a false plea to 
entrap me, or to ruin ^ome one because he 
is obnoxious to the king’s party ! And I 
alone ignorant of what several seem to 
know! It must be false, it is a strata- 
gem.” 

“ I know not,” said Edir, “ there is 
falsehood and treachery amongst these 
Tories— -they will steal or murder when 
they think their necks safe — but what care 
I for Whig or Tory — Washington or Corn- 
wallis, Congress or Parliament, liberty or 
rebellion. Give me the wild woods — the 
mountain — the stream — the wild deer, and 
the green grass unturned by man, or by 
his stealth. Thou outcast and wanderer, 
go with me, I love thee, but why or where- 
fore I do not know.” 

Edir broke off abruptly. “ Take the 
letter and keep it, but we must save the 
fair one ; the innocent, and Bucklebelt — 
rouse thee, child, and let us start imme- 
diately.” 

“ My mind is made up,” said Julian, 
“ but let me tell the faithful and honest 
woman, Nanny Hart, farewell.” 

“It is needless, I have seen her and told 
her that you should be conducted safely.” 

“ And the faithful little boy now coming 
I must thank for his kindness.” 

Little Buck came up with his game, and 
besought Julian to return. “I’ll lie out 
with you. Squire, day and night, and fight 
too for you.” 

Edir pulled out of a side pocket a curi- 
ously wrought shot pouch and gave it to 
the little fellow. “ If I should need thee, 
boy, wilt thou confide in me ; and wilt thou 
be faithful I” 

“ Yes, indeed will I, and I ’ll go with 
you both and fight until my heels fly up.” 

The parties took leave of each other ; 
little Buck to look at his gift and to exhi- 
bit it to the gaze of his sisters and brothers, 
or to talk over with his aunt the particulars 
of Julian’s escape, and the possibility of 
again being employed in some warlike 
exploit. 

“ What think you now of your friend the 
red coat and the turn coat ]” asked Edir, 
after they had started a short distance. 

“ Guide me to the neighborhood of Mrs. 
Grayson’s or to Walden’s,” said Julian. 

Julian looked at Edir, her frame shook, 
she clinched her hands and walked more 
rapidly; her fine countenance looked wild, 
and the drops of sweat stood on her fore- 
head ; he felt an indescribable awe when 
he looked at his companion — there was 
beauty for one of her age : fine form and 
intelligence of countenance, yet there was 


mystery about her actions and appearance ; 
why was she so intent on saving him I 
Julian almost disbelieved his senses. 

“ But there is my true friend, too honest 
to get rich yet too poor to be comfortable, 
Bucklebelt ; he and his little ones must be 
saved, and Graysop’s family, and Mcllha- 
ney’s. Young man, have you betrayed the 
innocent, are you married!” asked Edir, 
with a smile of unearthly hue. 

“No, no ! I am anxious to save the 
young, the innocent, the beautiful — a 
friend,” replied Julian, half unconscious of 
what he said. 

“ Ah !” said Edir, looking back, whilst 
her fine black eye glistened with a tear. 
“ Beautiful, young, and innocent, so was I 
once.” 

Little of interest happened to the two 
travelers, who pursued with rapid strides 
their course towards the settlements on 
Broad River. 

Julian had but little time to survey the 
country, his mind was occupied by the 
workings of his own little kingdom ; some- 
times Edir would pause for an instant to 
poirit out some flower or plant and descant 
on its virtues ; point to the hawk as it pur- 
sued the bird or the tired hare; ever and 
anon she would attempt to cheer him as 
they waded through glades and pvamps, 
or threaded the impenetrable thicket. Ju- 
lian became more and more warmed with 
the object of their mission ; he attempted 
to penetrate the history of his unknown 
guide ; the plan by which she became ac- 
quainted with the designs of the Tories. 
She evaded a direct answer, at last he ex- 
claimed, somewhat angrily, 

“ This is strange indeed ; led by an in- 
visible hand, a stranger, risking health, life, 
all for those who do not know me, or if 
they do, care less for me than if I were one 
of the most insignificant of their servants.” 

“ And what,” said Edir in reply, “ am I 
doing; think you that I bear a charmed 
life ! think you that any will thank me for 
the pains I am taking ! and what are 
thanks ! smiles : they are as the idle wind, 
or the flying cloud of the morning — and 
what care you for me! None of your 
thanks,” she continued, “ I am moved to it 
by my own heart, and may be it may 
move me to harm you, who knows !” But 
we breathe the same air — bask or freeze in 
the same sun and shade — aye ! and the same 
mother will hold us ; and yeti have a feel- 
ing for thee that I cannot describe. It carries 
me back to my days of innocence, when 
the sunshine and the sweet air had no 
cloud and no pestilence, and when this 


92 


ONSLOW, 


bosom was calm as the clear blue heavens 
above us. But you need sleep ; the solace 
of the weary and of the distressed, where 
the pangs of sorrow are forgotten, unless 
like me you have your regular dreams, and 
see acquaintances and form friendships 
which vanish in your waking hours. I 
have my friends of the imagination, who 
visit me and converse with me; and I 
have certain fields and pleasure grounds 
tlirough which I often pass. So strongly 
and frequently have I seen them, that I am 
almost ready to doubt that my waking 
hours are but sad and miserable dreams.” 

Julian pondered over in gloomy silence 
the observations of Edir Immerson, who, 
pointing to a cluster of trees, said, 

“ Here you rest. It is late — you must 
sleep — I will watch if necessury. But you 
are safer far than under the roof of the 
smiling villain who betrays for trifles and 
murders under the name of patriotism.” 


CHAPTER XXII. 

The Fourth of July, 1776, will he a memorable 
epoch in the history of America. I am apt to believe 
it will be celebrated by succeeding generations as the 
great anniversary festival. It ought to be commemo- 
rated as the day of deliverance, by solemn acts of de- 
votion to Almighty God. It ought to be solemnized 
witli pomps, shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bon- 
fires, and illuminations, from one end of the conti:ient 
to the other, from this time forward forever. 

John Adams’ Letteh to Mks. Adams. 

“And this is the glorious Fourth of 
July,” said Julian, as he and Edir de- 
parted on their journey. i 

“ Yes, they tell me it is a day of thanks- 
giving and of rejoicing; but the Carolini- 
ans have but little cause of exultation ; I 
have no doubt but that Bucklebelt and his 
friends are preparing to celebrate the day. 
Idle mockery !” 

“ I should rejoice to be with them. It 
is a day that stirs my blood, and makes me 
feel like one born to be free, and the citi- 
zen of a mighty Republic !” 

“ Ten miles further, and I will lead you 
to the neighborhood. But I fear harm has 
happened ere this to some of them,” said 
Edir, with a sigh. 

Our travelers, after traversing, with a 
rapid pace, a beautiful and undulating 
country, struck into a path bearing the 
signs of several fresh horse-tracks. Edir 
had the sagacity of an Indian, and watched 
closely this circumstance. ' One by one 
the tracks disappeared from the path. 

There is a gathering somewhere not 


far off,” said Edir. “ I see that there were 
four or five horsemen, and they have de- 
signedly disappeared from the road, some 
turning to the left and some to the right ; 
here is one has crossed over, and they all 
have turned to the right. It is in our 
direction, and leads towards Bucklebelt.” 

“ Let us follow, then,” said Julian, not 
having noticed the facts alluded to by his 
guide. 

“ Halt !” cried a voice from a hanging 
rock which frowned on the open space 
through which they were going. They 
looked to the left and saw a man, well 
armed. 

“ Friends or foes I” continued the 
stranger. 

“ A strange question,” replied Edir ; 
“ even if foes we could do you but little 
harm. Let us pass, for we have pressing 
business and will harm no one.” 

“You must give the countersign. I 
have orders to let no one go in, or out, 
without knowing the why and where- 
fore.” 

Julian was on the point of passing on, 
disregarding the questioner, for he could 
well comprehend the motives, or the right 
of the challenger. 

“ You cannot pass, my good fellow. 
Speak, who are you, sirl” 

“I wish to see Captain Bucklebelt, or 
some of — ” 

“ And pray,” exclaimed Edir, “ as you 
have the advantage of ground and guns,” 
not waiting for Julian to finish his sen- 
tence, “ who are you 1 and what business 
have you to stop the King’s highway, and 
stop his subjects in their lawful pursuits'!” 

“ The King’s highway ! are you slaves ! 
have you forgotten that this is the great 
anniversary of our Independence ! Whe- 
ther you are for the King, or even on his 
business, you go no further.” 

“We surrender as your prisoners, then,” 
said Edir, “although we could give you a 
troublesome battle of it. How can we 
reach your eagle’s nest ! Shall we come 
to you, or will you condescend to come to 
us!” 

In a few seconds Edward Conway stood 
before them ; his fine sturdy form, and 
well proportioned limbs, and glowing 
cheeks, his military dress, all gave him 
the air of a man, resolute and ready to act 
promptly in whatever emergency he might 
he called upon to exert his mental or phy- 
sical powers. 

The two young men gazed at each 
other for some moments; they looked as 
if they had seen each other before ; or that 


A TALE OP THE SOUTH. 


93 


some instinctive sympathy bound them 
together. 

“ You need not rack your brains, young 
men, in looking at each other; although,’’ 
continued Edir, with a melancholy look, 
“ perchance you may have seen such faces 
in your looking-glasses. You favor — but 
do not those flowers on different stems fa- 
vor 1 If the Maker of the lilies can fash- 
ion them alike, why not two young men of 
^tlie same age and country favor 1” 

Edir turned away with an abstracted air, 
and seemed lost to the scenes around her, 
whilst the big tears coursed down her 
cheeks. 

“ My name,” said Julian, for he was the 
first to speak, “ is Julian Onslow, and, if I 
am not mistaken, your name is Edward 
Conway.” 

“ Exactly, sir, and I presume no introduc- 
tion is necessary after our brief interview 
in Charleston.” 

“ I hope,” said Julian, coloring deeply, 
“ that our interview there is not remem- 
bered with any grains of ill will.” 

“ By no means,” said Edward, offering 
his hand to Julian; “your predictions and 
suggestions are fulfilling to the letter ; but 
where have you been, and whither are you 
going 1” 

Julian briefly stated that he wished to 
meet with some of the Whig leaders, and 
would have gone fully into the whole mat- 
ter, but Edir suddenly arrested him by 
urging him to hasten his departure. 

“ You have no time to waste in parley 
and gossip ; young man, you to your post, 
and we to our business,” said Edir, as she 
took leave of Edward, and nodded to Julian 
to follow. 

“ But,” exclaimed Edward, “ you must 
avoid speaking t(^ Major Walden, for he 
still remembers the interview you had with 
him. Farewell — may we live to be better 
acquainted, and may you enjoy the cele- 
bration.” 

“ Never, I fear,” said Edir, as she looked 
back and saw Edward rapidly retracing his 
steps to his former post of watching, “never, 
I fear; he is too brave and headlong for 
these times of trouble and villanous treach- 
ery.” 

“ He is a noble youth,” said Julian, “ and, 
I do not know how it is, I have a great sym- 
pathy towards him — I feel a melancholy 
thrill pass over me whenever I have look- 
ed at him.” 

“ You are both young, both engaged in 
the same mad schemes, perhaps, and may- 
hap expect to swing side by side some day 
or another.” 


“ I could have no better company,” re- 
plied Julian abstractedly, endeavoring to 
trace the tracks of the horses, which be- 
gan to be more distinct from the several 
riders falling into the same trail. 

When they had arrived near enough to 
discover the collection of persons, Edir ob- 
served — 

“ I must leave you. Go right up into 
the company, and the man with the longest 
legs, and longest face and chin, salute, and 
tell him Edir wishes to see him at home 
to-night. If he attempts to talk long or 
loud with you, tell him that Edir Immer- 
son said, ‘ Be silent !’ and wait till night. 
Time is precious. I shall see you again. 
Farewell ! No apologies — no thanks.” 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

’Tis liberty alone that gives the flower 

Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume ; 

And we are weeds without. 

I could endure 

Chains nowhere patiently ; and chains at home. 

Where I am free by birthright, not at all. 

COWPEK. 

The place selected by those who had as- 
sembled to celebrate the Declaration of In- 
dependence, was a beautiful piece of table 
land, or rather ledge of rocks, of an acre or 
two ; below some thirty feet ran a limpid 
stream, which, falling from cascade to cas- 
cade, produced a pleasant sound. On the 
west a hill gradually extended, whilst 
round its base this elevated spot ran spi- 
rally, gradually ascending to the level of 
other hills ; the beautiful beech trees and 
hollies furnished shade and variety, whilst 
the cool breezes which issued from the dale 
below, prevented any inconvenience from 
the heat of the summer ; the day was fine, 
and the air serene — a large flat rock neat- 
ly washed and swept by a few servants, 
was filled with the bonnets and light shawls 
of several ladies, who came to grace the 
entertainment, whilst at a little distance 
were placed the more homely head-gear of 
those who, amidst the hardships of the 
times, had been unable to vie with their 
more fortunate neighbors; squads of chil- 
dren, with little black urchins as nurses, 
were seen at different distances, ready at 
times to plunge over the edge of the hang- 
ing rock, or to pry into some secret recess 
or cavity of the hill. 

Julian arrived in time to hear Major 
Walden exclaim — 

“ Fie on it, Bucklebelt ! in the name of 


94 


ONSLOW, 


, sense, wliy such a collection of women and 
children? We are to be interrupted by 
the squalls of the brats and the brawlings 
of the mothers — and suppose, sir, that some 
of his Majesty’s cut-throat spies were just 
to peer over our heads from the top of the 
hill, what would become of this noisy 
household furniture belonging to yourself 
and friends?” 

“ It ’s just such a thing as they will not 
allow to happen, and just such an affair as 
would suit my wishes precisely ; but it is 
useless now to complain, for I see more 
^coming yet,” said Bucklebelt, looking to- 
wards a group which came on the opposite 
side of the hill. “ They are Jedediah 
Holiday, wife, and their little twins, and 
Mrs. Gabbleton, with her two children; it 
seems. Major, that if your house furnishes 
nothing of the kind, at least your plan- 
tation is blessed with future soldiers.” 

“Tut! tut! man,” exclaimed Walden, 
“ save your facetious remarks for more 
marketable ears. I ’ve no time for genealo- 
gies and birth-days — get ready for the cele- 
bration. Who reads the Declaration, and 
who is the orator ?” 

“You must be our orator, sir,” said 
Bucklebelt, “ and Edward must read the 
Declaration.” 

“ I agree so far as Edward is concerned, 
but I am determined, if no one will give us 
an oration, to call upon some one to make 
appropriate remarks at the table. I am no 
studied talker now.” 

“Exactly republican !” said Bucklebelt, 
“ and meets my wishes; when the heart is 
expanded, when the feelings are all on tip- 
toe, then we may calculate for the outpour- 
ings of the spirit.” 

“ Mr.,Milligan — our parson,” said Buckle- 
belt, as he walked deliberately up. 

“ I am glad you have come, parson ; we 
must have matters properly arranged — a 
prayer, and the Declaration of Independ- 
ence, and I hope you will favor us with 
some general remarks,” said Walden. 

“ My efforts belong to my country,” said 
the pious man, “ and I am ready to do my 
duty whenever I can properly ascertain my 
part.” 

Thus saying, Mr. Milligan went around, 
and spoke to his acquaintances. 

Seats had been prepared beneath the 
spreading trees, and a rude platform con- 
structed for the reader. 

Mr. Milligan, dressed in a garb rather 
indicating his profession, rose, and after 
briefly stating the object they had in view, 
and the necessity of relying on Heaven for 
all blessings, sung a hymn composed for 


the occasion, and then offered up a fervent 
and appropriate prayer. 

Bncklebelt was now in a situation of 
great embarrassment, for he recollected 
that Edward Conway had been appointed 
to the post of sentry, on the leading inlet to 
this secret place of meeting. In his dis- 
tress, whilst the parson was singing, he 
had in despair come to the determination 
either to get some one to supply the place 
of Edward, or to offer his own services. 

“ What shall we do, my dear Major ? 
Edward is now standing sentry on the look- 
out peak, and I have no disposition to be 
forward — and withal it looks best to see the 
young men engage in it.” 

“ Any way. Captain, any way — great 
neglect, sir, on our part — but any way i 
Edward is badly treated — badly treated ! 
Read yourself. Captain — I shall not, I 
swear !” 

Bucklebelt was exceedingly mortified 
and embarrassed — he looked around (irre- 
verently, some thought) to see who could 
supply his place, or who could be substi- 
tuted as reader. 

“ I ’m a great mind to call on that young 
stranger. He looks as if he came up to 
cheer us and animate us — better for him 
than for me, not that I fear the halter, or 
the detailed murderers !” 

Saying this, he stepped quietly round to 
Julian, and after having heard his message 
from Edir, he said — 

“ Sir, I shall not take any refusal — I 
know you will from character. Miss 
Grayson has mentioned you as a republi- 
can !” 

“Miss Grayson !” asked Julian, starting 
from his seat, “ is she here?” 

“ No — no !” said Bucklebelt ; “ but speak 
low — the parson is siijg’ing, and I notice 
that some of the hide-bound have been gaz- 
ing at me ever since I have been on the 
ground.” 

Julian’s face changed — it was in vain 
that he attempted to hide his agitation. 

“Never dread the task, my friend,” said 
Bucklebelt, supposing his agitation arose 
from a dread of the performance ; “ if any 
need of defending its propriety, I am ready 
to do it.” 

As soon as the solemn prayer was fin- 
ished, Captain Bucklebelt walked forwards 
with an air of self-complacency, mingled 
with a good degree of awkwardness, and, 
pointing to the stand, said audibly — ‘ 

“I beg, sir, that you will perform the 
ceremony instead of myself — read our im- 
mortal Declaration of Independence.” 

All eyes were turned to the new comer. 


A TALE OP THE SOUTH. 


95 


when Bucklebelt unexpectedly excused 
himself. At any other time Julian’s dress 
would have been considered not remarka- 
bly fashionable. But trifles were lost in 
the agitating scenes of the times — the few 
drops of colored water which may be seen 
in a clear stream, are lost amidst the 
swelling torrent, when it is choked and 
full of rushing and distracted waves. 

Julian bowed respectfully to the reve- 
rend gentleman as lie mounted the rude 
platform, and looking around saw many 
eyes and faces fixed on him. Julian com- 
menced in a distinct voice, “ A worshipper 
at the altar of freedom, I have come 
amongst you, fellow citizens, and feel the 
great responsibility of my unexpected situ- 
ation.” 

Julian proceeded, after a few such preli- 
minaries, in which he alluded to the great 
cause and the great actions of those who 
participated in the mighty struggle. He 
glowingly alluded to that spirit which 
could impel men thus prominently td step 
forward to peril their lives and their all in 
spite of the odds which had from the begin- 
ning existed in this contest. He passed a 
just tribute to the memory of those who had 
sanctified the cause by their blood, and he 
exhorted all who heard him to continue to 
fight the battle of liberty. The effect upon 
the audience was first a sudden noiseless 
attention — then tears and smiles, and even- 
tually Bucklebelt broke out into a raptu- 
rous shout. Julian’s youthful and animated 
appearance produced a most powerful effect. 
After various remarks he read the Declara- 
tion, and uttered with solemnity the last 
sentence, “ With a firm reliance on the 
protection of Divine Providence, we mu- 
tually pledge ourselves, our fortunes, and 
our sacred honor.” 

“ And here, driven into the recesses of 
the forest, in our fastnesses, we come up, 
and in the face of Heaven we pledge our- 
selves to the mighty work, death or 
victory — triumph before degradation — the 
blood of the political martyrs will be the 
seed of our liberty — their blood pleads at 
the gates of Heaven for revenge. Justice 
is with us, success is inevitable if we are 
united. I feel that there are hearts here 
ready for the conflict. I feel that the 
prayers of the mother and the maiden will 
be heard for our success, and that the right 
arm and the sword will be drawn for its 
accompl ishment.” 

Julian ended amidst-the tears and shouts 
of those who felt what he said, repeating, 
“ Yes, we pledge our lives and our all for 


liberty.” Major Walden walked boldly up 
and said, 

“ Sir, I thank jipu for the pleasure you 
have rendered me ; I thank you for the 
good the cause has obtained from your 
hands.” 

Bucklebelt was in a state of complete 
excitement. Mr. Milligan .came up and 
said, “ Though strangers in face we are 
acquainted in our hearts, sir ! God will 
prosper our cause, I feel a solemn presenti- 
ment that success will reward us.” 

The hardy friends of liberty crowded 
around Julian, and with earnestness grasp- 
ed his hand. 

After the enthusiasm was somewhat 
over, Mr. Milligan went to Julian and 
asked him to favor him with his company, 
as he was compelled to start home. 

Bucklebelt, without waiting for an an- 
swer, interposed an objection. “Our young 
Whig friend cannot be allowed to leave 
the field of his glory unreaped; he must 
stay and identify himself with the whole 
proceedings.” 

“ Yes,” replied Edward, who had been a 
listener to the concluding speech of Julian, 
“ I was fortunate enough to be relieved by 
Mr. Gabbleton, who came at my uncle’s 
suggestion to my post ; you cannot leave 
us, sir, however desirable it may be to be 
in Mr. Milligan’s company ; and, sir, if no 
one else will pilot you, I will to-morrow 
see you to any point in the neighborhood 
to which you may wish to proceed.” 

Mr. Milligan then observed to Julian 
aside, “My dear sir, I have heard Miss 
Grayson say she was extremely anxious to 
see you, as she has heard that you were in 
the South. My wife is unwell, and she is 
now with my daughters ; T hope that you 
will do us the favor, if it meets with your 
duties and inclination, to accompany me 
now, or come whenever it may be conve- 
nient to visit us.” 

“ Give her my best respects, sir,” said 
Julian, scarcely able to restrain his deep 
emotions, “ and say that I shall call either 
at your house or at her mother’s, as soon 
as my engagements or circumstances will 
permit.” 

The company sat down to a barbecue. 
Major Walden presiding, aided by a couple 
of the oldest gentlemen present as vice- 
presidents. 

The first toast was, 

“ 1st. The signers of the immortal Decla- 
ration of Independence : we re-echo their 
defiance to tyranny. 

“ 2d. The memory of those who have 
fallen in the cause of liberty : their blood 


96 


ONSLOW, 


is the cement of our temple of liberty, and 
ours, if need be, shall finish the glorious 
structure. 

“ 3d. The thirteen independent sove- 
reignties ; the hearts of all for each, and 
each for all. 

“4th. The Continental Congress: re- 
spect for its laws and patriotism. 

“5th. The Commander-in-chief, George 
Washington: the chosen instrument of 
Heaven for the accomplishment of our 
liberties. 

“ 6th. The army and our friends on the 
seas : glory awaits their exertions. 

“7th. Our allies and their generous 
sons : liberty belongs to all climates, ages 
and countries; they are adopted sons of 
America. 

“ 8th. The Governor of Virginia, Tho- 
mas Jefferson, the immortal draftsman. 

“ 9th.The orators and statesmen, writ- 
ers and contributors to our defence : unborn 
millions will sing their praises. 

“ 10th. The predictions of John Adams, 
respecting the 4th of July, 1776 : may they 
be fulfilled until time shall be no more. 

“11th. South Carolina: may the pre- 
sent calm of despotism be but the prelude 
of her future deliverance. May the spirit 
of patriotism burst like the avalanche and 
destroy our oppressors utterly and for- 
ever. 

“ 12th. The watchwords of liberty’: re- 
sistance to tyrants — to all exaction ! Death 
or victory. 

“ 13th. The fair daughters of America : 
firm as the Spartan mothers — they would 
rather see their husbands, brothers or sons 
fall in defence of their liberties, than to 
live dastards and slaves.” 

After the several standing toasts had 
been read and drunk. Major Walden hav- 
ing become excited, made a few observa- 
tions, in which he briefly recounted the 
wrongs of the colonies — the hardships of 
our countrymen. He pointed to the glori- 
ous sun, and declared that over no country 
in its mighty revolutions had it ever passed 
where more unmitigated tyranny had been 
witnessed. “ Roll on then, glorious orb, 
and bear the curses of the Ihther, and the 
tears, prayers and cries of the mother, 
down to distant posterity ; and thou, ceru- 
lean vault, open wide, that our wTongs may 
go up to the just throne of the great 
Avenger. Here is my toast,” said the 
Major, as he ended his fervent denuncia- 
tions — 

“ No concessions to assassins ; no conci- 
liation to tyrants — may the records of their 
deeds be handed down to the latest' poste- 


rity, as a beacon to those who may come 
after us. May their blood wash out their 
foot prints from our shores.” 

Edward Conway gave, 

“ Sumpter, Marion and Pickens, the 
three Brigadiers : may they live long 
enough to sanctify the name of rebel, and 
establish the cause of freedom.” 

Jedediah Holiday gave, 

“ Feather beds and sound sleep to our 
enemies — strong arms and sharp steel when 
our boys attempt to awaken them.” 

Captain Bucklebelt gave, 

“ The orator of the day : King George 
may wield his bayonets, but the fire of his 
eloquence will nerve the arm of the pa- 
triot ; he has deciphered the handwriting 
on the wall.” 

Julian was called on for a toast, and 
after the deafening applause had subsided 
he gave, 

“ General Lafayette, the gallant fo- 
reigner who perils all for liberty: may his 
example teach all after ages that patriotism 
belongs to all the world. Health, honor 
and long life to our benefactor.” 

Major Walden rose after the last toast, 
and said that he had a document put into 
his hand with various donations, which as 
president of the day it became his duty as 
well as pleasure to lay before the company, 
first, a toast sent by the ladies. 

“ The third of June and its proclama- 
tions — infamy to our oppressors, glory to 
our defenders. Brave sons of America, 
protect our liberties and Heaven will re- 
ward your valor with success.” 

Donations by Mrs. Milligan, £50, of 
continental currenc 3 r. 

By the Misses Milligan, two rings each. 

By St. Ille Grayson, a valuable breastpin 
and ring. 

Julian thought he recognized the ring, 
and his heart beat exultingly at this show 
of patriotism. 

Mrs. Holiday, five pewter plates for 
bullets. 

Mrs. Gabbleton, a first rate suit of 
clothes. 

Mrs. Grayson subscribes bacon, coffee 
and meal ; and last, not least, the toast from 
General Sumpter, 

“ Our enemies: war to the knife — every 
tree is our bulwark — every day and every 
night the hour of assault — courage, courage, 
my countrymen — you will hear from our 
exiles in a few days.” 

The woods re-echoed when this toast 
was drunk, and many a tear rolled from 
the stern faces of the determined sons of 
liberty. 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


97 


Many were the different toasts which 
the several friends of the occasion gave, but 
the few recorded may serve to show the 
spirit of the times. 

Major Walden had procured sufficient 
wine and apple brandy to furnish a tolerably 
decent supply for the company — but they all 
departed without showing any signs of ex- 
citement from their potations, and about 
three o’clock the whole company had se- 
parated, first, however, concerting amongst 
the leaders such plans of concealment and 
co-operation as subsequent emergencies 
might require. 

Bucklebelt stated to Julian that he had 
momentous matters to communicate, who 
readily agreed to accompany him, especi- 
ally as Edir Immerson had charged him to 
meet her there. 

Edward Conway advised Julian to go 
with Bucklebelt, as he believed that it 
would be the best arrangement; his uncle, 
he said, was irascible, and he would sound 
him on his course in Charleston. 

“ I will be over early to await your 
commands,” said Edward, as he parted 
with Julian. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

Mercy ! Porphyro, hie thee from this place, 

They are all here to-uight, the whole blood-thirsty 
race ! 

Get hence ! get hence ! there ’s dwarfish Hildebrand. 

He had a fever late, and in the fit 

He cursed thee and thine, both house and land I 

The Eve of St. Agnes. 

Julian, as he walked leisurely along 
with his new friend, deliberately surveyed 
him ; first he looked at the stately gaunt 
figure, a modern Saul amongst other men, 
with a depth of face, or rather chin, which 
served as the basement for the eyes, nose, 
,and head to rest upon. The eyes were 
small, quick, and penetrating ; they flashed 
and rolled with angry energy as he descant- 
ed upon the proceedings of the day ; the 
countenance was bony, hard, and inflexibly 
firm. He wore a thin greasy queue, whilst 
the rest of his hair had grown neglected, 
and fell carelessly about his ears and tem- 
ples ; it was coal black. His hands were 
large, long, and brawny ; his arms seemed 
hung upon his shoulders by hinges, as they 
dangled about at random. He had on a 
blue fringed roundabout, which was infi- 
nitely too short in the waist and arms ; his 
buckskin pantaloons, originally too short, 
had retracted from his tremendous ' feet, 
which were covered with high stiff leather 


leggins, over which he wore a huge pair of 
rough spurs. 

“ I am, sir,” said Bucklebelt, “ about to 
engage in a perilous journey. I go as an 
express from General ISumpter to the Go- 
vernor of Virginia ; the game-cock (for 
such is his name) wishes me to convey 
important news to his Excellency. Lieu- 
tenant Coldfire has just returned from the 
up-country, and says that we may expect 
hot work shortly. The enemy are asleep, 
or in a frolic, or perpetrating great out- 
rages, and Sumpter is determined to strike 
a blow at once, with forces from North 
Carolina and Virginia, that in a regular 
campaign the broken down spirits of all 
may be healed up, and I hope, sir, that I 
may obtain your services in this important 
mission.” 

Julian thanked the Captain for his good 
opinions, but he doubted the propriety of 
his proposal, assuring Bucklebelt that he 
was too little of a woodsman, and not suffi- 
ciently acquainted with the peculiarities of 
the country, to be able to master all the 
arts, necessary for a successful journey 
upon so important a mission. He also un- 
folded his situation in regard to the course 
which had been pursued towards him, and 
the contents of the letter of Clannagan. 

After Julian had gone somewhat into 
the embarrassing situation in which he 
found himself, Bucklebelt exclaimed — 

“ Even so — what else could I have ex- 
pected from Clannagan and his followers 'f 
They are generally the vilest and most im- 
placable of the country. But Clannagan 
has some private pique at you, or he sup- 
poses you have done him some injury; rest 
assured he knows something of you, or 
supposes you are likely to injure him — 
he pays all debts, great and small, with 
full measure ; and God grant, in his mercy, 
that I may have the good fortune to meet 
with him. I feel that ere these wars are 
ended, we are to meet in deadly strife, and 
the sooner the better.” 

The two soldiers, or friends, arrived at 
home about sun-down, tlie family having 
started immediately after the oration. 

“ You will find, sir, that I have a fine 
family of boys, preparing to follow in the 
footsteps of their father ; I believe in names 
after great men ; it sets the mind to work 
in search of the deeds of the heroes of an- 
tiquity — it causes the mind to search, also, 
into the favorite studies of their name- 
sakes ; for instance, my own name, Corio- 
lanus Bucklebelt, has always been the 
cause of my military bias, and from child- 
hood I have sighed for fields of battle, and 


98 


ONSLOW, 


have spent my time in reading of the 
mighty exploits of heroes, and particularly 
of the mighty Romans. I have,” said he, 
“ named our oldest twins, one Julius Ccesar, 
the other Cneus Pompey ; of the next twins 
I have named one Demosthenes, the other 
Cicero ; the third set of twins I have named 
one John Wesley, and the other Jack Cal- 
vin ; the fourth set are named after our 
modern Generals, George Washington and 
Gilbert Mottier Lafayette. I have the 
fifth set about a month old now, and I have 
some disposition to wait awhile until the 
wars get over, or let them choose their 
own names. I had a good will to-day to 
call one after you — Julian Onslow, I think, 
sir, is your name I” 

Julian nodded an assent, whilst the little 
urchins were variously grouped around, 
listening to the opinions of Bucklebelt, 
who continued — 

“ The other I thought I would call after 
myself, or Thomas Jefferson; but I must 
wait until things are better developed. It 
has vouchsafed the Almighty to strengthen 
our family with male children.” 

The cab in which Bucklebelt lived was 
a comfortable one, with a shed room; a 
square box, stuck on pegs, contained the 
hooks of this military gentleman, most of 
which were on military tactics, or the lives 
of military men ; several pamphlets, bear- 
ing the name of Major Walden, lay scat- 
tered amongst the books, and had been sent 
over for the purpose of edifying Bucklebelt ; 
orations on the massacre at Boston ; essays 
on the causes of the war, and a few news- 
papers ;, Plutarch’s lives were amongst the 
collection. ^ 

Mrs. Bucklebelt was one of those happy 
looking women, who appear contented at 
all times, and under all circumstances; 
she seemed to be willing that the whole 
military knowledge of her husband should 
be given undiluted by any additions of her 
less informed mind ; a nod or a frown at a 
child which obtruded itself too familiarly, 
seemed to show that she was somewhat 
particular on the proper points of domestic 
government; whilst Captain Bucklebelt 
had studied acoustics to such an advan- 
tage as to raise his voice in proportion to 
the difficulties to be overcome; for when 
one of the family of noisy urchins, either 
from a desire of joining in the conversation, 
or from a more selfish disposition to defend 
or enforce his own opinions, attempted to 
interrupt his discourses, (whose fund of 
knowledge appeared to be inexhaustible,) 
he uniformly raised his voice to a pitch 
fairly above all competition. 


Julian listened as well as a mind ha- 
rassed as his would allow ; his equanimity 
was a little disturbed as Bucklebelt occa- 
sionally brought up one of his military 
sons, Julius Caesar, for instance, or Cneus 
Pompey, to run over the leading traits of 
their great cognominals; or as Demos- 
thenes or Cicero rattled off’ a paragraph 
from the orations of those great orators. 

“ I am prepared for any ordinary emer- 
gency,” said the Captain, as they walked 
to supper in the kitchen, anxious not to 
lose any time in his discourses. 

“ Yes,” replied Julian, eyeing the stock 
of arms, consisting of muskets, rifles, pis- 
tols, swords, &c. 

The information which Bucklebelt had 
conveyed, that he was about to act as an 
express to the Governor of Virginia, and 
the insinuation that Sumpter was shortly to 
take the field, all floated across Julian’s 
mind ; hope sprang up at the idea of re- 
sistance, and he once more began to have 
hopes of future success. 

“ You adhere to the arrangement,” 
asked Julian, “ of which you spoke to- 
day 1” nodding his head towards the 
North. 

“Yes, sir, and the fruits of it shall soon 
be seen. Alone I will weather the storm, 
and assist in carrying out the plan, if life 
and health hold out.” 

The family had scarce retired to bed, 
when they were roused by knocks at the 
door. 

“Rise, Julius Caesar and Cneus Pom- 
pey,” exclaimed Captain Bucklebelt, “ De- 
mosthenes and Cicero — the whole rise, and 
make up a light.” 

“ Yes,” said a voice at the door, “ the 
children in this neighborhood are as plenty 
as fools at a frolic.” 

“Is that youl” inquired the Captain, 
recognizing the voice. “ Daughter of the 
woods ! whither goest thou in these hours 
of sleep 1 Bringest thou good, or art thou 
a harbinger of evil 1” 

“ Be up, man ! no time for history nor 
parley. Leave off' thy long discourses of 
military men, and thy quotations of battles 
and armies — the Bloody Scout are out 
upon the wing! The young man — is he 
here 1 Has he obeyed my commands 1” 

“ I am here, ready to hear your coun- 
sel,” exclaimed Julian, whose mind had 
been too busily engaged on the exciting 
topics of the day to yield readily to sleep: 

After order was somewhat restored, and 
a light procured, Edir told Bucklebelt that 
she had learned that Clannagan and his as- 
sociates were in the country, and raedita- 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


99 


ted evil to himself, and the other leaders of 
the Whigs. 

“ Confiscation, house-burning, and impri- 
sonment will be the order of the day.” 

“Yes,” said Bucklebelt, “no doubt. The 
great works on military subjects must be 
secured, Rollin and Plutarch, and all the 
precious orations, ancient and modern, must 
be secured. Boys ! boys ! you must carry 
all my books, except the Bible and Psalter, 
and hide them in the big sycamore tree. 
As for the Bible, and Baxter’s Call, and 
the Psalter, they ’ll have no great relish 
for them. Mind, boys — do as I tell you — 
and as for myself and Avalanche, (given to 
me by my patron and friend at three years 
old,) they will never get us, for I am off at 
break of day. But the wife and her chil- 
dren, the five twins ! For,” said Buckle- 
belt, turning to Julian, and taking hold of 
his button, “it has vouchsafed the Al- 
mighty to send a goodly number of male 
children, ready, no doubt, to fill up the 
ranks of us who may fall in defence of our 
country ; for I should not be surprised, sir, 
if this war were to last as long as the Pe- 
loponnesian war of twenty-seven years, or 
the first Punic of twenty-four years, so ably 
described by Rollin, Plutarch, and other 
great masters of the historic pen ; and I 
learn from the great Drs. Stahl, Boerhave, 
Hoffman, and others, that in all countries 
the male children out number the female.” 

Edir became exceedingly impatient un- 
der the long and elaborate discourse of her 
friend, and, seizing him by the collar, forci- 
bly whirled him half round. 

“ Look,” said she, “ at the helpless chil- 
dren ! Shall they become fatherless T 
Wish you to see their brains dashed out 
by your enemies'! If not, depart from this 
neighborhood, pursue thy journey, and let 
not this young man be taken, for he is 
called thy accomplice, and thy spy ! His 
name has been sounded as a hot-headed 
brawler. Already have his words, spoken 
to-day, been conveyed to those who seek 
his life.” 

The parties determined to separate. 
Mrs. Bucklebelt and her boys were di- 
rected to seek protection with Jedediah 
Holiday, and to hold consultations with 
Major VValden, if their safety required his 
protection or advice. 

Bucklehelt prepared to depart toward 
Virginia, in accordance with the arrange- 
ments made by Governor Jefferson to hold 
constant communication with the Southern 
States ; he received the parting advice of 
Edir, as to the necessity of assuming the 


humblest garb, and of divesting himself of 
all appearance of military character. 

“ 1 ’ll obey to the letter,” said Buckle- 
belt, . “ but if they come in close quarters, 
they must expect to find me prepared with 
a pair of good pistols, and this trusty dag- 
ger, which has already seen some service 
in these wars.” 

Bucklebelt shook Julian by the hand, 
and wiped away a tear from his eyes. 

“ God bless you, my dear friend,” said 
Bucklebelt ; “ at the hour of midnight I am 
ever ready to serve you ; I am a man of 
few words on the subject of friendship, 
though they all say I ’m rather prosy on 
the military art; but let that pass; I do 
not know how it is, but you feel inexplica- 
bly near to me.” 

“I hope,” answered Julian, as he shook 
hands with his honest and warm-hearted 
friend, “ that time will prove me not un- 
worthy, nor ungrateful for such evidences 
of good will towards me.” 

Edir and Julian again set out seeking a 
place of safety. Julian w'as, at times, de- 
termined to remain and face the danger — 
but the hitherto good counsels of Edir, her 
great anxiety that he should escape from 
Clannagan ; her hint at his probable vis’it 
to Bucklebelt’s, confirmed him in his course. 
He followed Edir’s advice. 

After a severe journey of two or three 
hours, they reached the destined place. 

“ Here,” said Edir, “is the house where 
you will lie perfectly safe, in the very den 
of the tigers and their whelps. It is a bold 
plan, but the best ; it is even taking the 
wolf by his ears, for I learned yesterday 
that spies would be placed on you. Even 
the negroes are waiting to seize you in the 
name of the King. Clannagan, Snyder, and 
Geoffry Jarvis will be here this day with 
their followers ; I have dogged them until 
they were all asleep, and now is the liour 
for your escape. They have their spies at 
every point. I will save you, or have blood 
for blood !” 

“I wish to God! I had gone with Buc- 
klebelt, and died arms in hand with him !” 
said Julian. 

“ No, no ! young man — he is on impor- 
tant business, and can look the fool, the 
farmer, the tinker, the Tory, or the Whig 
— you can only look what your heart feels. 
Not yet I the day may come when^ both of 
you may have your hearts’ content of fight- 
ing.” 

Edir then explained to Julian that Mcll- 
haney played into the hands of both parties, 
as far as interest carried him — always 


100 


ONSLOW, 


managed by a dread of personal harm — 
“and he knows full well that, at the 
twinkling of an eye, he and liis whole 
family could come to the gallows.” 

Julian shuddered at the description, and 
felt loath to be placed in the power of such 
a wretch. 

“ He dares not offend me. His safety 
and his interest both teach him that ; and 
he knows that were I dead, he would be 
given up to the vengeance of those who 
would sweep his house from its foundation, 
like the nest of the eagle when the hurri- 
cane passes in its fury.” 

She further explained, at some length, 
her plan. It was to place Julian under the 
special protection of Mcllhaney and his 
wife, and to hold them personally responsi- 
ble for his safe deliverance as soon as the 
marauding party had left the neighbor- 
hood ; whilst she scoured the country in 
order to ascertain w^hat schemes and plans 
were on foot. 

“I overheard them last night, whilst 
round their fires ; they expect intelli- 
gence to-morrow from Mcllhaney of all 
that is afloat, and I will place you in a 
situation to hear all their schemes.” 

“ Remain here,” said Edir, “ a few mo- 
ments, until I go into the house, and pre- 
pare the family for your protection.” 

Edir soon returned, and told Julian that 
arrangements had been made for his safety. 
She explained, that by a singular contriv- 
ance, the house had been built so as to ad- 
mit of an easy access to adeep cave, which 
had an outlet some distance from it under 
the rock, and from which, if necessary, he 
could make his escape. 

“ But,” said Julian, “ I fear that some of 
the negroes, or some of McTlhaney’s clan 
are acquainted with the cave of which you 
speak, and may betray me.” 

“ Do as I bid thee,” said Edir, emphati- 
cally, and urged Julian along to the house. 

“ Are all asleep asked Edir. 

“Yes, all except Judy,” replied Mcll- 
hany. 

“ Mcllhaney, thou hast never deceived 
me, and I swear by my own life, that if any 
harm happens to this young man, through 
thy perfidy, (who is the friend to Buckle- 
belt, and who is also he whom Clannagan 
and all wish to entrap,) that I will raze thy 
dwelling from its foundation, and all that 
thou hast shall perish ! Ohilca, remember, 
will fulfill my wishes, even if I should fail ; 
I swear this, by the Holy Evangelist. No 
hesitation, the bloody scout will be here by 
twelve o’clock, and I must be far o’ er the 
hills.” 


Mcllhaney agreed, apparently with cheer- 
fulness ; but he knew it was useless to re- 
fuse, especially as the threat which named 
Ohilca, a friend of Edir’s, might be ful- 
filled. 

“Take these,” said Edir, “ as she de- 
parted, handing a brace of first rate pistols 
to Julian, “ they may be of use, should any 
attempt to molest thee.” 

Mcllhaney whispered to Julian that he 
was entirely safe. “ It is not the first time 
I have seen thee, I tell just enough to 
cause thee to confide in me ; under that 
bed you will find a trap door, it fastens 
strongly underneath ; we are both now in 
equal danger ; I must play my part well, 
or you die, and 1 shall be massacred here- 
after, by Edir, or some Whig or loyalist ! 
To bed, then, and here is the key to the 
door of this room ; let no one in unless my 
wife, or myself; your name for the present 
is Mr. Mcllhaney, no other name.” 

“ No, sir,” said Julian, “I bear my pro- 
per name, Julian Onslow.” 

“ Well ! well ! there will be none call- 
ed, and therefore you are to have none at 
all, that is the understanding. There’s 
the bed,” said Mcllhaney, as he closed the 
door. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

Ah why wilt thou affright a feeble soul ? 

A poor, weak, palsy-strickeii, church-yard thing. 

The Eve of St. Agnes. 

The precaution of allowing Julian to 
have the key on the inside, nearly led to 
his detection, for he, from his long day’s 
previous journey, sleepless night and agi- 
tation, was so exhausted, that as soon as he 
found himself secqrehe flung himself on the 
bed, and fell into a profound sleep ; Mcll- 
haney saw the party of horsemen dashing 
up in furious style, he knocked and bawl- 
ed to no purpose at the door ; at length, in 
despair he sprang up into the lofl, and dis- 
placing a plank, dropped himself upon the 
floor, and seizing Julian, who sprang in 
great agitation to his feet, with his hands 
on his pistols, “ don’ t shoot ! don’ t shoot ! 
don’t shoot,” exclaimed the affrighted host. 

“ What do you mean, then V’ demanded 
Julian. 

“ The cave under the bed ! the devil ! 
dragoons ! the bloody scout arc on us.” — 
Saying this, Mcllhaney rather shoved Ju- 
lian into his hiding place, and falling down 
oq the bed in great agitation, waited until 
the whole company rode up. 


A TALE OF TKE SOUTH. 


101 


Mrs. Judy Mcllhaney, went out to meet 
the squad. 

“ Where’s Cyclops, the beauty, your 
husband, madam 1” demanded Hunchback, 
who was one of the party. 

“ There’s the beauty,” said Jake Adams, 
pointing to Mrs. Mcllhaney. 

“ You must be thinking of old Nanny 
Hart, and her bee tree,” said Long-legs, to 
Hunchback. 

“ I command silence,” said Snyder, in 
the name of Col. Clannagan. 

“Aha! Mcllhaney, is that you 1” asked 
Clannagan. “ It betokens indolence, to be 
lounging and lying about such weather as 
this. 

“ Why do you all sit so fast to your 
saddles 1 light, and look awhile at them 
gentlemen, come. Colonel,” continued Mc- 
llhaney, “ I’m glad to see you, although I 
have a smart touch of the rheumatiz, and 
a smack of my old complaint, the hardness 
of hearing.” 

“ This is my good friend, Mcllhaney ; 
and this, sir, is the Rev. Geoffrey Jarvis, 
mineralogist, a gentleman who has come 
into this neighborhood, expressly for the 
purpose of examining whether there are 
any precious metals hereabouts or not.” 

The mineralogist made a profound bow 
to Mcllhaney, and declared that he felt 
great pleasure in renewing his acquaint- 
ance with him, “ for, sir, at a proper time, 
I shall be able to show you many important 
metals, and as you have leisure, I shall, 
perhaps, unfold more at large the great 
advantages to be reaped from the recent 
discoveries I have made in chemistry and 
mineralogy.” 

“ Prepare us a private room ; I have 
matters which must be fully understood be- 
tween myself and this worthy friend. And 
mind sir, that no one, not even my own 
men, shall overhear us ; let dinner be pre- 
pared, let provender be ready thus spoke 
Clannagan to Mcllhaney, somewhat apart 
from the others. 

“ What did the gentleman say, Judy 1” 
asked Mcllhaney, inquiring of his wife, 
who stood near him ; he had become sud- 
denly rather deaf. 

“ None of this pretended deafness, with 
me, it may do of nights, and under other 
circumstances, but not at the present, at 
all events,” said Clannagan. 

Mrs. Mcllhaney beckoned to her hus- 
band to open the door. “A tight dark 
room, this,” said the mineralogist, as they 
entered it. 

“ Yes, it causes my friend to take cold ; it 
is the cause, Mcllhaney, of your deafness.” 

8 


A small window was thrown open, and 
after Clannagan had given directions to his 
men, he asked Mcllhaney, (having seated 
himself and the mineralogist, and shut the 
door,) “ what is the latest news, sirl any 
thing from Walden, Milligan, Bucklebelt, 
Coldfire, and that young spy, Julian Ons- 
low 1” 

These questions were asked in the room 
under the floor of which Julian lay ! But 
a few feet separated them, and Julian dis- 
tinctly heard the questions, and prepared 
for the worst. 

“ Yes, I heard of most of them yesterday, 
eating and drinking with a parcel of wo- 
men.” 

“Where did the young scoundrel go 1 
did you ascertain 1” 

“I believe he went home with Buckle- 
belt.” 

“ Yes, a hereditary scoundrel ! Yester- 
day. was the Fourth of July, was it 1” 

“ Exactly that day, new style,” said Jar- 
vis. 

“Were there plots, or treasonable schemes 
of insurrection going on 1” asked Clanna- 
gan, earnestly. 

“ I can ’t exactly say; my boy. Big Harry, 
says, that Mr. Milligan sang, prayed and 
preached, and that a young man exhorted 
very well, and set them all to crying.” 

“ Call the boy in, sir,” commanded Clan- 
nagan, whilst he continued — “ now, my 
dear friend, if we manage the matter right- 
ly, we ’ll have the whole scheme perfected. 
Your glorious plan of filling the country 
with the precious metals, and I to ferret 
out the opponents of jour projects. And 
you say old Walden refused to treat your 
scheme with ordinary courtesy ; I would 
not be surprised if that young spy was at 
the bottom of it.” 

“ I am loath to believe that the youth of 
the frog ponds would thus suddenly turn 
against me. And if he be like one I once 
knew, though versatile and full of pride, 
yet he had an ear for the great science of 
mineralogy, and if I could fairly lay my 
plans before this one, I think he would give 
them the fullest approbation. But wo to 
the scoffers and wine drinkers,” exclaimed 
the mineralogist ; recurring to the scene 
described as having happened yesterday. 

Big Harry walked in, with his large 
white eyes and teeth, prominently visible ; 
he was huge and heavy footed, with a 
large, iron frame, broad and strong should- 
ders, and expanded chest ; he was a model 
of brute strength, and was in the very 
pride of manhood. “ Your servant, gentle- 
men, I am here,” said he, as he bowed, 


102 


ONSLOW, 


scraping his foot backwards against tlie 
rough flooring. 

“ Well, Big Harry, as you value your 
character for honesty, tell me the wliole 
truth concerning the affair yesterday ; 
were you there 

“ Well, master, as you seems to ho a big 
officer, and in your regimentals, which al- 
ways ’larms me. I’ll tell the truth, sir, I 
war ’nt not there at all.” 

“Did you not tell me so, Big Harry 1” 
inquired Mcllhaney. , 

“ No master, no sir, your deafness did 
not dissarn, and understand me.’^ 

“ Sir, did you not tell me that Mr. Mil- 
ligan preached, and that a young man ex- 
horted, and that they had liquors 1” 

“ Well, now, master,” said Big Harry, 
his forehead and nose wet with the trick- 
ling perspiration, “ if the whole truth must 
come out, it must.” 

“Yes,” said Clannagan, “every sylla- 
ble.” 

“ Well, sir, master sent me over to Mrs. 
Grayson’s, to hear what was going on ; and 
there I learnt from one of her maids, who 
told me that Mr. Milligan’s Zebe told her, 
that there was praying and preaching, 
singing and cursing, and clapping of hands, 
and all sorts of doings ; some cried and 
some laughed, and some almost fell on the 
ground.” 

“And, sir, is that alB” asked Clannagan. 

“Yes, master, upon my word and salva- 
tion, sir; if I was to be hung, out yonder, 
to that horse rack.” 

“ Nothing about one Julian Onslow 1” 

“ Oh 1 yes, sir, they say, Mr. Milligan 
said, he gave a wonderful discourse, which 
caused them all to cry ; so they said, he 
told Mrs. Grayson.” 

“ Do you hear that, Jarvis 1 He is turn- 
ed to a field preacher ; and the young im- 
postor is complimented for his hypocrisy 
l3y old Milligan ; — but it runs in my mind 
it was a kind of celebration of their Inde- 
pendence ; but they dare not openly avow 
such, as their object. WJiere is that fel- 
low, now 1” 

“ Master knows where he is.” 

“ Do you hear that, Mr. Mcllhaney 1” 
sharply demanded Clannagan. 

And the reader might well ask, “and do 
you, too, Mr. Julian Onslow, hear the ques- 
tion I” 

“ I should not be surprised, Mr. McTlha- 
ney, if you had the fellow snugly fixed 
away in a trap door. You may go. Big 
Harry, ’tis like master, like man.” 

“Come here, Judy, and show the gen- 


tleman where that fellow lay,” said Mcll- 
haney. 

“ Is he here? thank God,” said Clanna- 
gan, “ I hope my prey is secure his 
eyes sparkling like a terrier’s. 

“ What did you agree to?” asked Judy, 
looking with an inquiring look at Mclllia- 
ney, unable to divine his meaning. 

, “ Where that fellow lay, and where you 
made him hide.” 

Julian heard them rise from their seats ; 
a thousand vivid ideas rushed through his 
brain'; he thought they could almost hear 
his heart throb, whilst he was almost on 
the point of rushing out at the trap door. 

“ The bed is warm.” said Jarvis, putting 
his hands under the cover. 

“ Why, Judy, what are you doing ?” ex- 
claimed Mcllhaney. 

“ I am about to open the trap door to 
show where the man was put ?” 

“ What man, Judy ? what man ? the spy 
that I caught last year, and sent over to 
Col. Grayson before he died ?” 

Judy took the hint. “ Yes, yes, but I 
am mow getting out some potatoes, and as 
to the warm bed, it ’s where my old man 
has just been sleeping ! And, continued 
she,' I know I could ’nt see any man in this 
potato hole, even if there was one in there, 
and I would ’nt go in there without a light, 
I ’m too fraid of snakes for that, and what’s 
the use, old man, to be raising anxiety 
about that old worn out tale ; that’s your 
way always, you ’re getting so deaf that 
you are always tantalizing people, by your 
mistakes.” 

“ What a cock and a bull story,” said 
Jarvis, “ have we just heard !” 

“ It beats the devil to be deceived thus,” 
exclaimed Clannagan. 

“ Stop, my worthy friend,” said the mi- 
neralogist, “ that is somewhat too irreve- 
rent, in a leader of the people.” 

“Very well, my good friend. You for 
the soul, and I for the body ; you fight for 
conscience, and I for the gratification of my 
hatred.” 

“ Ay,” said Jarvis, “ we wish to see the 
continental currency driven from the coun- 
try. A plague on those who have counter- 
feited the real metals, and banished them 
from circulation, by rags and chaff.” 

“ Yes, my good friend,” said Mcllhaney, 
not having fully recovered from his great 
trepidation in which his wife had precipi- 
tated him, “yes, I think the fellow I sent 
over to Col. Grayson before he died, was a 
real counterfeiter.” 

“ It ’sa great pity. Aunt Judy,” said Clan- 


A TALE OP THE SOUTH. 


103 


nagan, as he arose, to look at the proceed- 
ings out of doors, “ that your good man 
has suddenly become so deaf, and seems to 
have lost his senses at the same time.” 

“ He has taken fresh cold, and has turn- 
ed the wrong ear towards you, I can place 
you so he can understand you, very well ; 
speak to him on the right side. 

“ I ’ll be back to ascertain the flict, di- 
rectly ; I must see what my boys are after,” 
said Clannagan, 

“ Go, old man, and take the men to see 
their horses,” said Judy, “ whilst I get out 
some potatoes and some brandy, for our 
good friends’ dinner.” 

“ Ay ! for dinner, that ’s right ! Let us 
walk out,” continued Clannagan. 

Jud}' waited until she thought all were 
gone out of the house, and having mis- 
taken the hints and blinds of her husband, 
determined to save Julian. 

“ I ’m orily getting out some potatoes, 
brandy and ham, for your enemies. He ’s 
here ! he ’s here !” she said to herself, 
hearing Julian move, and being delighted 
to find that he had not made his escape. 

Tiie words “ he ’s here,” although said 
to herself, were spoken rather louder than 
the others. 

“ Don’t shoot ! don’t shoot me, your best 
friend !” she exclaimed, as she heard the 
cocking of Julian’s pistols. 

The mineralogist, who had walked into 
the passage, had returned to the door, and 
had overheard the whole of Judy’s conver- 
sation ; he even heard the sound of Julian’s 
pistols, as he prepared to defend himself — 
a momentary flash of anger, at the idea 
that Julian avoided him, and the exciting 
words of Judy, caused him to rush out to- 
wards Clannagan, and exclaim — 

“ He ’s here ! She has found him under 
tlie bed !” 

These words were scarcely spoken, ere 
the mineralogist repented of them, and lie 
ran back to warn Julian to prepare to de- 
fend himself, whilst he demanded that lie 
should receive no injury at the liand of 
Clannagan. 

But the acme of despair had come over 
Judy ; 'she immediately fled back, after she 
had fastened the trap-door. 

“ Feel, sir, yourself — nothing but pota- 
toes and this whiskey, or brandy, for I ’m 
no judge. And is this the way you serve 
a poor woman, who is haunted by an evil 
spirit 1 I am always hag-ridden, whenever 
I get where a pious man is ; you had bet- 
ter attempt to pray the evil spirit out of 
me, than to call the company up to make 
fun of me ! He ’s about rending me now !” 


Judy, dreading the exposure which would 
fall on them if Julian were found, saw 
several of the company returning ; it was 
a critical moment. She suddenly became 
violently convulsed, and went through a 
spasmodic fit ; foaming at the mouth, throw- 
ing about her limbs, chewing her tongue. 
The whole passage was covered with po- 
tatoes, bacon, and broken bottles. 

Clannagan ran up with several of the 
party, and found the mineralogist attempt- 
ing to hold the afflicted woman; two or 
three of the servants from the kitchen with 
terror depicted in their countenances, and 
bawling at the top of their voices, “ Poor 
Missus is dead !” 

“ My poor wife is dying !” exclaimed 
Mcllhaney, “she is about to die; she is 
worse than I ever saw her before; take 
her to bed, take her to bed, and give her 
asafoetida and onion juice ! She’s got the 
convulsions worse than I ever saw be- 
fore !” 

“ It ’s an evil spirit!” said Jarvis, “and 
can only be cast out by fasting and prayer, 
and ministering to the Saints.” 

The good lady was placed in bed, whilst 
the mineralogist and Clannagan repaired 
back into the room ; the latter seemed like 
a chafed tiger. 

“ I have hints from Notwood that this 
Julian Onslow is a man of note — that he is 
connected in some way with our enemies ; 
he has special agency in coming to this 
neighborhood. Coldfire’s villanies — the 
meeting yesterday ! He is in league with 
the whole of them I If I get him he shall 
rue the day that he was born.” 

“And I,” said the mineralogist, “will 
have my revenge, too, on that contemner 
of my profound studies, and my favorite 
schemes for the glory of the age ; and the 
vow which I made many years ago is not 
to be told to tlie right ear, nor to the left ; 
my vow is not yet fulfilled ; I must see him 
again, face to face, lay down my schemes 
and plans, warn him that his life, fame, and 
the safety of his friends and country, de- 
pend upon his course ; ten righteous men 
might have saved Sodom, and one righteous 
man can save this whole generation. But 
the single word, nay ! and the proud head 
bows to the power of the mineralogist.” 

Clannagan watched the workings of the 
countenance of the mineralogist ; a stern 
and placid ray played on his manly face, as 
he seemed to feast on his future schemes; 
anon a Hash of darker hue would follow as 
he imagined a probability of defeat. 

“ Now is the time,” thought Clannagan, 
“to fathom the whole of this affair; fear first, 


104 


ONSLOW, 


and bribery next. My men, reverend fa- 
ther, are getting- impatient at the delay in 
not obtaining this refugee ; Snyder and 
Adams are almost ready to fall out with 
me, because he has not been forthcoming ; 
and I have proniised them that you would 
deliver him up to us.” 

“ What ! have you violated the solemn 
injunction which I gave you, when that 
skipping sparrow garrulously attempted to 
talk to us? and thinkst thou that mortal 
man can bring fear to my breast ? Thou, 
and all thy clamorous clan, cannot cause 
me to utter a whisper until my vow is ful- 
filled !” 

“ No, I have not stated our conversation, 
but I told them that through your know- 
ledge of the occult sciences, you might 
enlist some aid into your service, which 
could give us some clue to the whole mat- 
ter; I allude to Mcllhaney, for I never 
knew him fail to ferret out any scheme 
which he set about.” 

“ It is well that thou intended no threat,” 
said the mineralogist, “ for thou hast the 
manners of a noble friend to my science, 
and thou speakest fair; and as to thy 
boasted followers, charge them not to es- 
say to dive into my actions, for I brook no 
compulsion, and I fear no penalty. The 
youth I spoke of may be a rebel, and as to 
his origin, aye ! from the hour of his mo- 
ther’s travail, until I left the city of bro- 
therly love, I know ; yea, the very marks 
on his body. But this Onslow I know not. 
I first encountered him when Coldfire 
chastened the insolence of the highway 
robbers near the land beset with the plagues 
of Egypt.” 

Julian had so far recovered from his ap- 
prehension, as to have become intensely 
interested in the conversation of the miner- 
alogist and Clannagan ; he heard the same 
grave, full, and earnest voice that had so 
wonderfully excited him in former years ; 
the same mysterious allusions to the beau- 
ties of science; the same bold denuncia- 
tions of those who should oppose his 
schemes. 

“It is the same mysterious being who 
haunted me in Philadelphia,” thought Ju- 
lian. “I am in the midst of adventures — 
one word, a single interview, would un- 
ravel the mystery of my birth, and the 
strange connection this man has with my 
fate. Not twelve months ago, and he was 
in the North ! No sooner does an unex- 
pected chance of war throw me here, than 
I am pursued by the same voice, the same 
schemes.” 

Julian listened again, full of anxiety; 


he hoped that some expression wmuld fall 
to confirm him as to his birth, his parent- 
age, and hisTiistory. 

“ Dark brown eyes and hair, fair com- 
plexion, and a fair figure to look upon, hath 
the youth ; and a scar just under the hair, 
and two large moles near the left breast, 
and a supercilious glance, wdiich never 
cowers — such were the features and the 
marks,” continued the mineralogist. 

“ The same ! the very same which Col. 
Tarleton’s surgeon registered. I then per- 
suaded them to hang him, but Col. Not- 
wood told me that we could use him, and 
through him we might get wealth and re- 
venge. Come, come ! my good friend, let 
us carry out our mighty schemes ; divulge 
me one fact. You say you know his pa- 
rentage — is he of this State ? Establish 
that to me, and I swear thy schemes shall 
prosper, and all my powers shall be exert- 
ed to further them.” 

“ If this Onslow should prove to be my 
protege, my pupil, never will I betray him 
into the hands of his enemies ; until he re- 
jects my grave discoveries, never will I 
divulge his mysterious history, until my 
vows are fulfilled.” 

Clannagan was baffled ; force could, as 
a dernier resort, be used ; but now he de- 
termined to set Mcllhaney and the miner- 
alogist to work upon each other, and be- 
tween both, and through Not wood, he 
might fathom the mystery; he thought 
further, that in some way the good feelings 
of the mineralogist towards Julian might 
be used for his apprehension, and once in 
his power all would basafe. 

“ Far be it from me,” said Clannagan, in 
a tone of mortification and disappointment, 

“ to interfere with your schemes or your 
conscience, for sooner or later will be 
brought to light all which you now con- 
ceal. You ought to remain here, and get 
Mcllhaney to assist you in penetrating the 
darkness which surrounds this affair — 
names are nothing. Keep an eye on this 
Onslow — why does he shun you, unless he 
has laid his head with Walden and Buckle- 
belt to prevent you from seeing him? Be 
wise as a serpent, and harmless as a dove, ■ 
and you will unravel the affair, and find 
out, also, certain plots against your 
science.” „ . .HU 

“And this man of blood quotes scrip- SI 
ture, and so did the devil, and so did Saul 
amongst the prophets,” said the mineralo- | 
gist, as Clannagan left him to prepare H 
Mcllhaney for his plans. “ Well, I shall ; 
use him for my purposes ; and if he be the ^ 

chosen instrument for banishing the coun- ' ' 


^ If 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


105 


terfeilings of tlie continental Congress, and 
of bringing to light the art of the transmu- 
tation of metals, proud should he be, even 
although he were to become but a servant 
of servants.” 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

Tlie fellow, that 

Sits next him now, parts bread with him, and pledges 
The breath of him in a divided draught. 

Is the readiest man to kill him : it has been proved. 

Timon of Athens. 

It is needless to describe the scene 
amongst those in attendance upon Clan- 
nagan. The incessant oaths, and the 
various efforts at wit, were all silenced 
asj soon as Mcllhaney announced to the 
party that dinner was ready. 

The mineralogist and Clannagan were 
not a little astonished to find that the good 
hostess had so far recovered as to be able 
to take a seat within the kitchen, where 
all was neat and inviting. A long table 
had been set on the clean ground, and seats 
made of slabs were so placed that the whole 
company sat down to dinner. It It'ould be 
useless to attempt to describe the contents 
of the various trenchers and pewter dishes, 
which evinced that care had been taken, 
not only to fill them, but to keep them per- 
fectly neat. 

“ It’s but a sorry place for gentlemen to 
eat in,” said Judy, “ here upon the naked 
floor ; and as to the dinner, times are hard 
and very difficult; I ’m sorry that I ’ve no- 
thing fit to eat.” 

“No apologies, Aunt Judy,” said Clan- 
nagan. 

“Be thankful that thou art able to pro- 
vide and preside over the bounties of na- 
ture,” said the mineralogist. 

“ Ask a blessing, my go^, ,friend, for 
certainly this dinner deserves one,” said 
Clannagan. 

“ Aye ! and all others,” replied the mi- 
neralogist. “ But let us offer thanks,” 
continued he, elevating both hands, and in 
a grave tone commenced — 

“Righteous Father! inasmuch as thou 
hast commanded us to offer up prayers for 
all in authority, therefore, we beseech thee, 
seeing that we are sinful creatures, and 
inasmuch as we are prone to forget thee, 
now incline our hearts to thankfulness, 
that thou hast vouchsafed us health to see 
these savory and well smelling meats, and 
gravy, and fried eggs, and coleworts, and 
big hominy, commonly called Indian maize, 
and potatoes, both foreign and domestic, 


fried and roasted, and other preparations 
which greet our nostrils; and also, we be- 
seech thee, to give us temperance in eat- 
ing ; and bless thy servant the Governor, 
and thy hand-maiden the Governess, who 
hath a sore affliction of an evil spirit, 
vouchsafe her a safe deliverance from the 
same ; and restore the hearing of thy ser- 
vant her husband ; and bless thy well be- 
loved son and servant King George the 
Third ; and remove all pestilent innovators 
on the precious metals, and give peace to us 
here and hereafter. Amen.” 

“ Amen !’! reiterated the whole company, 
who began to give sly glances towards 
each other at the long and somewhat ex- 
traordinary grace. 

“ Help yourselves, gentlemen,” said 
Mcllhaney, who stood nodding to, and di- 
recting his servants, “help yourselves. 
It ’s but a sorry dinner — flour is not to be 
had — the negroes and Whigs plundered 
every thing; and our cows, too, lie out 
continually, and I ’ve been afraid to be 
seen driving cattle about the country, for 
fear I might be branded as taking things 
which did not belong to me. But, never 
mind, the wars can’t last always, and I 
think things will shortly take a turn, since 
you all have turned out.” 

“ No apologies, no apologies,” said Clan- 
nagan, “ you may be glad that you have 
not been driven up and penned by the re- 
bels before this ; I fear you are getting into 
favor with them.” 

“ Mayhap the Colonel,” said Judy, wip- 
ing her clean face, then reeking with per- 
spiration, “ would like to taste a little 
brandy, fbr the sassafras tea is a wishy- 
washy drink, and is apt to sour on the 
stomach.” 

“ Your grace, parson,” said Snyder, with 
a sneer, addressing the mineralogist, “has 
given us all a good appetite; it’s strange 
you did not catalogue the brandy in y ur 
benedictions. If it hurt not thy tender 
conscience, I should like to wash down 
these good things, and prevent them from 
overloading the stomach.” 

Judy, in the mean while, brought forth a 
huge black square bottle, with a short 
neck, and with just transparency enough 
to show that it was well filled, and setting 
it down by Clannagan, brought horn cups 
and placed them to the several plates. 

“ My good friend,” said Clannagan, at- 
tempting to fill the cup of the mineralo- 
gist, “i hope you will gratify me by 
drinking my health, and that of our 
friends'?” 

“ Your health I have already asked 


106 


ONSLOW, 


from the fountain of all gifts; a teacher 
in Israel, one whose vow is yet unfulfilled, 
should not tamper with the accursed fire. 
Those who are waxing faint in pursuit of 
the EgypUans, the Amalekites, and Jebu- 
sites, may provoke their zeal by such exci- 
tants; as for myself, I will taste not, handle 
not, nor even ask a blessing, though taunt- 
ed by a son of Belial.” 

The huge bottle was soon emptied, 
whilst ample, or rather unexampled, jus- 
tice was done to the cooking of Mrs. Mcll- 
haney. 

“ Where 1” asked Clannagan of his 
host, “ where, my old buck, did you get 
this? Is it from the still worm of a Wal- 
den or a Grayson?” 

“ Not from that stingy aristocrat, whose 
very dogs are insolent,” said the mineralo- 
gist, “ not from him who vents threats as 
the swine doth its grunts ; yes, I was or- 
dered off hungry and my beast starving, 
and threatened by a menial. If he had 
touched me, I should have sent him howl- 
ing down to his father, the prince of all 
liars.” 

“ Hurra ! for the parson,” said Snyder, 
whose free potations added a fiery and 
glaring aspect to his whole face. “ — n 

it, he can curse as round an oath as any 
poor devil amongst us. Landlord, our 
horses ; come, parson, to horse ! to horse !” 

“To horse! to horse!” shouted Hunch- 
back, “and let us storm the d — 1 with the 
parson at our head.” 

The mineralogist was exceedingly irri- 
table, and the several taunts led on by 
Snyder, had wrought his temper to a pitch 
of great excitement. Rising deliberately 
from the table, and turning toward Colonel 
Clannagan, (who had taken sufficient bran- 
dy to fire up his stern and stubborn dispo- 
sition,) “ My wmrthy friend,” said he, “ex- 
cuse me if I decline to dismiss the table 
— I cannot consent to throw pearls before 
swine, or to profane my calling so far as 
to attempt any thing of the kind.” 

“You are excused, by G — d, sir,” said 
Clannagan. 

The mineralogist then turned towards 
Snyder, and looking him sternly in the 
face said, “ Let there be no strife between 
us, I pray; I have given thee no cause for 
thy ribaldry, oaths and jests ; whence thou 
comest none know: and thou'tellest no 
one; but whither thou goest few can hesi- 
tate lo foretell ; yea, even to thy father the 
prince of all drunkards and liars ; and if 
such be the will and decree of the Lord, 
Amen ! I say, to his righteous judgments.” 

“ Take that, you canting hypocritical 


knave,” replied Snyder, slapping the mi- 
neralogist backwards with his strong open 
hand. “ I understand that you are for 
lying back, and feasting and eating and 
tantalizing every body about your knavish 
projects of metals. You have been drum- 
ming and fifing us up against the Philis- 
tines. You have furnished precepts in 
fighting, and I have given a little of the 
practice. Aha ! my old lark, have I ?” 

The unfortunate mineralogist quickly 
sprung up with his knife drawn, and shout- 
ed aloud, “Stand back, one and all, and I 
will chastise the refugee from justice; I 
will spill the cut-throat’s blood as quick as 
I would smite a viper.” 

“ Peace, peace ! shouted Clannagan, 
seizing the uplifted arm of the mineralo- 
gist, whilst with his right arm he suddenly 
drew a large- pistol, which was concealed 
under a hunting overcoat. “ Shame on it, 
Snyder ; dare you strike a man of his sa- 
cred character and stricken in years ; one 
whose duty leads him to reprove in season 
and out of season ?” 

“ Aye, sir, I dare strike the devil him- 
self, or any of his trusty followers,” replied 
Snydet*! eyeing the menacing look and pis- 
tol of hi^ leader. 

“ No '^ime to be showing your ill nature 
again. Captain Snyder,” said the swagger- 
ing Jake Adams, who was closely backed 
by his former principal. Hunchback, who 
now had to cling to him for support. 

“ I ’m the second this time, Jakey — go 
ahead, you ’ll have a fair tussle where and 
whenever I ’m on the ground, even if I get 
squoze through the touch-hole of the Colo- 
nel’s pistols.” 

“ Be silent, sir,” said Snyder, running 
his hand in his bosom and laying hold of 
his dirk. 

“Be silent, Mr. Adams, your superior 
may catechise you, but no man can run 
over mef-* unless he was born in old Eng- 
land.” 

The sudden turn given to the quarrel, 
drew the attention of all present to the 
known ill blood between Adams and Sny- 
der. Clannagan turned to use efforts to 
arrest it; although at any other time he 
would have resented the words of Snyder. 
In the mean while the mineralogist seized 
the black bottle and threw it with tremen- 
dous energy at Snyder, shouting, “ You 
foreign mercenary, you shall never insult 
me with impunity.” 

Fortunately for Snyder, tlie blow was 
so ill-directed as only to brush his head ; 
the only injury done was the pricking of 
the hand of Fav\ k, who, in attempting to 


A TALE OP THE SOUTH. 


107 


save the spirits, incautiously seized too ea- 
gerly the broken portions of tho bottle. 

“ Villains, be still,” exclaimed the furi- 
ous leader, shaking with rage, whilst he 
instantly presented his pistols. “ Jarvis, 
you must cease your fooleries. It does not 
become your character; and you, Mr. 
Braggart, were there not more brandy 
than battle in your words, I would give 
you what you have so long deserved.” 

The deserter bit his lip and shook with 
rage ; his love of strife was alone mastered 
by his cool and deliberate passion for 
plunder. 

“ I know I am in your power, but every 
dog has his day, Col. Clannagan, and three 
to one would deter me, if I had a mind 
to be refractory ; but we have a common 
interest in the goods and chattels of the 
country, and I therefore obey you.” 

“ ’Tis well, sir,” said Clannagan, re- 
placing his weapon. 

“ Get ready to scour the country, molest 
every one not ready to enlist with us. 
Spend but little time where there are no 
negroes, lands, cattle nor money — but car- 
ry fire and sword to the houses of the rich 
or the rebellious; destroy their coverings 
and set them to suing for mercy ; a hungry 
stomach and bodily fear will make hum- 
ble knees. What say you, friend Jarvis 1” 

“ Aye,” replied the mineralogist “ do no 
violence to the women and children, but 
subjugate the strong in spirit, and give the 
spoils of the fat and rebellious to the 
needy.” 

“And mind, my lads,' that your love of 
good liquors lead not your necks into a 
halter. Find out what that long-jawed 
alligator, Bucklebelt, is after — trip him up, 
and gather all you can against him and 
that aristocrat Walden. Their long talks 
about liberty and oppression must be proved 
upon them. And all boys capable of bear- 
ing arms are to be looked to. Coldfire 
must be ensnared — offer him a share in the 
fat of the land ; he shall swing before 
twelve months roll over his head.” 

The speaker suddenly turned to Mcll- 
haney, who had approached near to the 
scene of conversation. 

“And you, McTlhaney, no double-faced 
dealing. I don’t like the failure in getting 
that spy.” 

“ IIow could I get what was not to be 
had!” 

“ Why, sir, this way,” replied Clannagan 
abruptly, drawing out his pistol and cock- 
ing it, and placing it directly against the 
breast of Mcllhaney, and steadily gazing at 
him full in the face. 


“ What, Colonel, send a soul to hell 
without a minute’s warning 1” 

“Would it not have, been so decreed, 
Mr. Hypocrite 1” asked Clannagan, half 
tauntingly ; “ and mind, sir, that good mi- 
nister and mineralogist must have good 
quarters for himself and beast.” 

“ May it please your honor,” said Judy, 
“ our provender for beasts is all out.” 

“ I ’ll see to that horse,” replied Mcll- 
haney, whose fears were not the less from 
seeing that the pistol was not removed du- 
ring the whole conversation. “ I’ll see to 
that, Judy, the beast shall be filled; I’ll 
bell and hobble him, and turn him into the 
burnt woods.” 

“ Never !” exclaimed the mineralogist ; 
“ he cost me 201. 5s. and 8d. in gold.” 

“ Well, my boy shall fill him with oats 
and every dainty, and hold him ,to grass in 
tho meadows, and keep the horse flies off 
him, or lead him to the sand hills to let 
the horse-guard flies devour every one that 
disturbs him.” 

“ To your work, boys,” said Clannagan, 
“whilst I strike through the country to 
hear the news about Sumpter and his fol- 
owers.” 

Thus ended the chase after Julian. The 
ravages of the bloody scout were not unlike 
those of the animal or insect tribe. They 
often spared cornfields or provisions, with 
the expectation of needing them at a future 
day. They loved a good dinner, and a 
plentiful rick of provender for their horses. 
And most of the inhabitants readily yielded 
to them. Thus they passed on from place 
to place — sometimes getting drunk, and in- 
sulting those who had supplied their wants 
— arranging their plans of petty revenge 
and spite— whilst the more sagacious pre- 
pared their schemes of ambition or future 
accusations against the lives and property 
of those whose political principles or de- 
fenceless situations rendered thema prey 
to their proclamations and confiscations, 
or the blind fury of the wicked and profli- 
gate clan they let loose upon the commu- 
nity. 

Clannagan knew too well the despicable 
beings which surrounded him, and withal 
he could fathom the views of those high in 
power. He saw them actuated by the or- 
dinary excitement of associations, either of 
fear or revenge — whilst the more wary, 
such as Notwood, were actuated by ambi- 
tion and avarice — his plans were often 
formed and executed by himself — banded 
together by a common principle of hatred 
ami safety. He used or was used as best 
suited his leading and absorbing passion of 


108 


ONSLOW, 


deadly hatred towards the Whigs, and espe- 
cially towards the Walden family. He 
trusted his counsels only to those whose 
fortunes were desperate, or had inextrica- 
bly involved themselves so far in the strug- 
gle, as to be compelled to pursue steadily 
a course of desperate warfare against every 
Whig family. 

It was for the purpose of laying some 
successful scheme of attack, or to guard 
against a surprise, that Clannagan now se- 
parated from his associates, telling them 
when and where to meet him. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

Sylv. Then talk not thus ; 

Though but a jest, it makes me tremble. 

Jer. Jest? 

JLook in mine eye, and mark how true the tale 

I ’ve told you. — The Broken Heart. 

No sooner had the party left the house, 
and the mineralogist had stepped out to see 
whether the promises about his horse had 
been attended to, than the good spouse 
commenced a fierce lecture upon the hy- 
pocrisies of her husband. 

“ It ’s a pity, old man, that you are get- 
ing so foolish, your palaverings come near 
getting us into trouble, pretending to be 
deaf, and acting the hypocrite.” 

“ Now, Judy, have you not been fitified 
and carrying on your highstrikes and lying 
the whole evening, in word and actions, 
both? and besides the old family black 
bottle is broke to boot.” 

“Yes, sir ! and pray did not the Tory 
leader accuse you of stealing and all that 
kind of stuff, and you stood and grinned, 
like it did your very soul good ; and if 
these are the thanks I am to be getting, 
Mcllhaney, your neck may swing, for I 
will not risk soul and body, again, to be 
called a deceitful liar, not even by you.” 

“ Come, Judy, don ’t be hurt, I know you 
did very smart, but I thought you carried 
on most too plain, some how or another ; 
but don ’t never be so bountiful and waste- 
ful again, for I ’d as soon die by the sword 
as by famine?” 

“ But, Mcllhaney, what do you mean by 
my carrying on? I guess I ’ve as little de- 
ceit, or undecent ways, as you have.” 

“But, hush, Judy, I see the old minister 
coming,” said Mcllhaney, glad to get rid 
of the tongue and temper of his better- 
half. 

“ I tell you, what, brother Mcllhaney, 
this is the way that I have been served 


these twenty years ; soft promise and non- 
performances ; your ostler says that he has 
strict orders never to feed, without your 
express orders, during my visit.” 

“ I gave no such orders, I only said that 
he must be sure to give your horse nothing 
unless by your directions ; and that you 
would make the money fly out of these 
rocks, yet.” 

“ Yes, every body wishes to make a tool 
of me, but I will be hewn into ten thou- 
sand pieces, before I will become the tool of 
any one. And, to think, how that dumb 
brute, which now has on his sixteenth pair 
of shoes, is ill treated ; he has carried me 
faithfully over the gold regions, and has 
more knowledge of the l(f)^d, which con- 
tains it, than every member of the rebel 
continental congress, to boot; for he never 
gets on the soil, but what he is inclined to 
stop, and wait until he gives me time to 
examine it.” 

The conversation was continued by the 
mineralogist ; he descanted on the ill treat- 
ment of Walden, his visit to Conway’s, his 
probable succes, by uniting with Clanna- 
gan. 

“ Here is a book,” said he, “ which I 
purchased at a low price, of a woman in 
Philadelphia, on the 2 1st of March, 1770, 
O. S., whose husband was a learned chem- 
ist and mineralogist ; it is the only copy of 
the kind, now in print, and I mean to have 
it reprinted, with copious notes and addi- 
tions, after I get my great scheme into ope- 
ration. I shall prove that the different 
veins of metals run as straight as a sur- 
veyor’s line ; I have traced them from 
Maryland to Georgia, I have seen their 
glittering ores in Virginia, North Caroli- 
na, and amongst the Indians; and they 
grow richer and richer; sometimes diving 
and rising until they rise in Mexico and 
Peru. The day is coming, and I hope to 
live to see it, when no metals need be im- 
ported from abroad, when every poor man 
shall have his plates and spoons of precious 
metals, unless I am deceived ; but if I am, 
I will die, and let the secret die with me.” 

“ Ah !” said Judy, “ how anxious I am to 
see the day when every bit of the conti- 
nental trash will give way to good hard 
money.” 

“ I have a mind,” said Mcllhaney, “ that 
I know where there is a mine, at least Jed- 
ediah Holiday thinks that there are pre- 
cious metals, of some kind, in the ores I 
showed him.” 

“ He knows nothing about metals, said 
the mineralogist, indignantly, “1 have the 
only true knowledge on that subject ; I 


A TALE OP THE SOUTH. 


109 


have spent twenty years, day and night, in 
their study, and if you are a true friend to 
your king and country, you will never en- 
courage the ignorant or knavish, in tam- 
pering with matters of so much importance 
to the country and to posterity.” 

Judy, who had stepped into the next 
room, whilst the mineralogist was thus des- 
canting upon his favorite science, return- 
ed, with deep anxiety depicted on her 
countenance. 

Mcllhaney, full of gloomy apprehensions, 
unguardedly exclaimed : “ Is it possible 
that he has escaped 

“ Even so,” said Judy. 

“ Yes, dear sister, conscience has at last 
done its duty; truth at last hath been 
spoken by thee ; I have watched both of 
you, and now perceive the whole truth,” 

“How did you find it out!” asked the 
woman, with great surprise, “ I ’m sure 
you did not see him.” 

“ You need not attempt to hide the truth 
from me ; you have been keeping him in 
the. dark, even in the strong hold of con- 
cealment, amidst the waters of perdition, 
though pleasant to the taste, amidst the 
fat and the meats, which hath this day 
shown that thy hearts have been guilty of 
dissimulation ; perhaps thy heart still long- 
eth after him, that he might return.” 

“No, no,” said Mcllhaney, “let him go 
to the devil, I hope our private transactions 
will not be shown to the world ; I know 
that my negro has been telling you false- 
hoods.” 

“ No,” said the mineralogist, “ accuse 
no one unjustly, but the scripture sayeth 
that whatsoever is done in secret, shall be 
proclaimed upon the house topi” 

“ Perhaps you speak of the inward man 
of sin,” said J udy, winking at the agoniz- 
ed husband. 

The mineralogist saw the sign, and sud- 
denly combining all the facts together, ex- 
claimed, “ Aye, of the inward man, and the 
outward man ; recollect Sapphira and An- 
nanias, beware of their fate ; nothing but 
truth will suit me. I attempted to speak 
and hear the truth from Walden, but he 
was beset of an evil spirit, and wo and 
wailing shall come on him and his house- 
hold. 

“Ah! Judy, our good brother is most 
excellent in parables, and speaketh things 
which cut as a two-edged sword ; but I 
hope he doth not wish to intermeddle with 
our private concerns ; Edir Immerson hath 
never done so.” 

“ Aye,” exclaimed the mineralogist, 
“ where is she, and where is the young 


man she entrusted to your care 1 Knowest 
thou aught of that transaction 1” 

“How am I to know!” said Judy, fall- 
ing into a most violent fit, similar to the 
one which had so horribly tormented her in 
the early part of the day. 

“ Fasting and prayer,” said the mine- 
ralogist, “ will alone cure this malady ; I 
perceive that thy wife hath as many devils 
as Mary Magdalen, but I will never leave 
you whilst the whole truth is not confes- 
sed.” 

The same remedies and efforts became 
necessary ; but in this instance there was 
but little dissimulation. 

. The mineralogist examined carefully 
the specimens of ores furnished by Mcll- 
haney. “ One thing I will request of thee,” 
said Jarvis, “ that you discover the pre- 
cious metals to no one, or, command that 
they be held in the name of the comman- 
der in chief ; if thou dost not, I will feel 
constrained to apply to Col. Clannagan, to 
that effect.” 

“ Promise secrecy on the proceedings 
here, and I will give them all up, solely 
and surely, to thee.” 

“ I must have the whole truth then from 
thee and thy wife; on no other conditions 
will I agree, and even when my vow is 
ended, I must do as the great interests of 
my scheme may demand.” 

The matter was thus partially arranged. 
When night arrived, Jarvis was exceeding- 
ly anxious to follow up his discoveries, and 
full of suppressed indignation, he request- 
ed the privilege of praying in the family. 

The negroes came in, whilst Judy re- 
tained her bed, and her trusty husband 
seated himself near her. It is needless to 
describe the group of family worshipers ; 
some squatted on their hams, and rested 
their heads on their knees, whilst others 
of more consequence were honored with a 
stool or bench. 

The mineralogist read with great solem- 
nity, and turned from chapter to chapter, 
and verse to verse ; the illustrations were 
well chosen, and the annotations all point- 
ed to the day’s conduct ; next came a song 
bearing on the same unpleasant train ; the 
prayer was pointed and personal ; he in- 
voked the judgments of the Almighty, on 
the hardened hypocrite, on the deceiver; 
but mercy upon the repentant, on those 
who confessed their sins and misdoings. 

Mcllhaney and his wife were occasion- 
ally alarmed ; they first commenced chid- 
ing their little negroes for laughing, and 
the larger ones for their sleepy and snor- 
ing doings, whilst the minister was at 


110 


ONSLOW, 


(laty. It is not to be disguised that they felt 
themselves awkwardly situated. On the 
one hand they stood in fear of Edir Iinmer- 
son, on the other, their treachery toward 
Clannagan ; Julian, too, had disappeared ; 
liad he not heard enough from them to 
cause him to be anxious to have them pun- 
ished! and the mineralogist had discovered 
or knew something of a transaction which 
would lead to their destruction. After a 
full consultation they determined to entrust 
the mineralogist with a portion of the 
truth, and ensure his silence by promises 
of discovering mines and ores to him ; and 
play upon his fancy, for the purpose of 
drawing him off from Clannagan, and if he 
betrayed them, to deny the whole to Clan- 
nagan. 

During the night, the mineralogist heard 
a conversation in the yard, and Carefully 
creeping out, overheard the whole proceed- 
ings. In the morning before prayers, after 
inquiring after the health of the family, he 
said the weather was foul last night, and 
foul doings, I fear, were carried on by some 
designing persons, against the inhabitants 
of this neighborhood.” 

“ I heard nothing of the kind,” replied 
Mcllhaney, evidently wishing to evade the 
subject. 

The fact was, that during the night some 
trading was carried on, between Mcllha- 
ney and some of the neighboring negroes ; 
and the mineralogist had sufficient interest 
in passing events, to turn every circum- 
stance to his own advancement. His 
knowledge of the scriptures furnished him 
with new and appropriate texts, and the 
conduct of his host the pretext, and he im- 
proved his knowledge of the last night’s 
disclosures with terrible severity. They 
winced under his. second castigation. — 
“ Thou shalt not steal.” “ Thou shalt not 
covet thy neighbor’s goods.” His song 
was selected with equal skill, and his 
prayer was earnest in its half warning, 
exhorting and imploring words. 

The mineralogist arose from his knees, 
as if conscious of having' done his duty; 
whilst the host and his wife presented a 
melancholy spectacle of two persons whose 
thin veils of hypocrisy had been so far re- 
moved, as to leave but little doubts that 
they had been fully exposed ; yet they still 
clung to their faint hopes ; but these were 
dispelled when the mineralogist authorita- 
tively demanded, “ where is the young 
man, you concealed from us yesterday !” ^ 

“ He has escaped without our knowledge, 
we know not where he has gone,” said 
Judy. 


“ The Lord knows I had no hand in it,” 
sighed Mcllhaney. 

“ The papers you obtained last night, 
through your midnight traffickings, where 
are they !” 

“ What papers !” asked Mcllhaney, with 
consternation. 

“And darest thou,” continued the mine- 
ralogist, rising up in great agitation, “ to 
tamper with me, — thinkest thou, that the 
Lord would suffer you to prosper in your 
iniquity, withoul detection !” 

“ Here are the papers,” said Mcllhaney, 
“ and I have barely looked over them ; they 
are nothing but the love-sick strains of old 
Grayson’s girl, about one Julian Villoc, 
when she was in Philadelphia. 

“ The Lord be praised,” said the mine- 
ralogist, “ I have materials to fill up the 
hiatus ! An inexplicable mystery always 
hung over some part of my intercourse 
with him.” 

“Who is this Villoc! did you know- 
him!” inquired Mcllhaney, with apparent 
anxiety. 

“ Did I know him ! did I know the hour 
of his birth ! Start not, ‘ the hour hath 
come, when the hidden shall be made 
known.’ I perceive, that thou art,” continu- 
ed the mineralogist, “ in the gall of bitter- 
ness,- and clouds of ignorance hang over 
you. But my grand scheme shall yet be 
accomplished, through this young man, the 
chosen instrument of the Lord.” 

It was in vain that Mcllhaney besought 
the mineralogist to leave the papers; urg- 
ing that he could read them at his leisure, 
and that if it became known that his ne- 
gro had purloined them from Mrs. Gray- 
son’s (where they had been left by St. llle, 
she having obtained them from i\melia 
Milligan, on her return from Philadelphia,) 
it would leave a stain on his family. 

“No,” exclaimed the mineralogist, “will 
the sea-tossed mariner refuse to quench 
his thirst when he reaches the shore ! will 
the alchymist give up his newly discovered 
elixir! never! these papers shall yet 
bring me to the goal of my ardent wishes. 
My horse ! I must meditate, I must throw 
myself upon the wings of the fresh air, be- 
neath the warm sun of heaven, and cogi- 
tate over the events of the last few days, 
and prepare your miiids to develop the 
whole truth, or prepare to feel the ven- 
geance of the long sleeping judgments of 
Heaven; when I come again, I shall pre- 
sent proof upon proof ; and truth upon 
truth ; concerning a mysterious affair, of 
which you twain wot.” 

The mineralogist, as was his wont, de- 


A TALE OP THE SOUTH. 


Ill 


parted, not telling- whither he went, whilst 
tlie two culprits were left in hourly tor- 
tures, fearful of the indignation of some 
Whig or Tory partisan, and lashed by the 
no less strong and relentless stings of a 
guilty conscience. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Wo to the laud where such hold sway, 

A lawless hand, who mark their way 
With torch by night, and sword by day. 

Anon. 

The reader need not suppose that Julian 
remained pent up in the cave, filled with 
the gathered plunder of the whole sur- 
rounding country ; nor was he sufficiently 
provident to appropriate its spoils to his 
future comfort. He had heard enough to 
determine his future course, and he had 
also heard enough to believe that McTlhaney 
or his wife intended to betray him to 
Clannagan. In the absence of Edir and 
Bucklebelt, he determined to go to the 
residence of Major Walden, and make 
known his history, and the declarations 
he had overheard, and if he failed in his 
mission, he would seek an interview with 
the mineralogist, although he feared his 
associations with Clannagan and Not wood 
and the whole party would end in his be- 
trayal. Julian escaped from his hiding- 
place before the party had left Mcllhaney’s, 
and travelled by his idea of the course to- 
wards Bucklebelt’s ; he succeeded, after 
much difficulty, in getting about night to 
the spot. But he was greatly surprised 
when he arrived there to find the whole 
house and settlement literally burned to 
the ground, and the disconsolate woman 
and children looking at the scene. The 
little children pointed to such articles of 
household gear as their recollections served 
to recoghize. 

“ There,” exclaimed one, “ is the knee- 
buckle which Maior Walden gave to fa- 
ther !” 

“ And there,” exclaimed another, “ burns 
the great buck-horn which daddy killed one 
Christmas morning, when the dogs ran the 
deer up to our house.” 

“ I wish daddy was here,” said one of the 
boys, “ I ’ll be bound he would have ruined 
the whole posse.” 

Such were some of the observations and 
the fervent denunciations of this group of 
houseless children. 

Julian learned that the act of barbarity 
had been done by Snyder and his drunken 
clan soon after they left Mcllhaney’s.] 


“ Ah, Mr. Onslow,” said Mrs. Buckle- 
belt, “ we were poor enough before, but 
now we have not left even a cow-pea to 
live upon ; not a garment, except what we 
had on, and all because my husband is 
friendly to Major Walden and the Con- 
tinental Congress. God knows ! they 
have done their worst, unless they mur- 
der my poor children !” 

Julian was too much affected to give 
any consolation, or to trust his feelings to 
words. 

“And this is war!” thought he, as he 
looked upon the defenceless family, “inno- 
cent children and weak womanhood are 
caused by inhumanity, houseless, to suffer 
and perish, from a mere whim of drunken 
malice. Could the ministers of Great 
Britain see what their cruel friends are 
doing — could they hear one sigh of dis- 
tress, as it rises up to Heaven, they would 
dread the angry cloud which will gather 
over it to avenge the wrongs of the op- 
pressed I” 

“Where will you now go 3” asked Ju- 
lian, deeply affected. 

“ My oldest boys shall find out General 
Sumpter, and the rest of us will divide 
amongst our neighbors, or do the best we 
can !” said Mrs. Bucklebelt, with calm and 
firm energy. 

“ Yes,” said Caesar, “ if daddy don’t pay 
them, I know that Lieutenant Coldfire 
will ; for he swung the fellows that stole 
his mother’s horses and burnt her barn; 
and we are determined to have a pull at 
these rascals, and if it had n’t been jfor me- 
ther, me and Pomp,” continued Julius 
Caesar, “ would have given them a flying 
shot or two !” 

“ Where is the Lieutenant 3” asked 
Julian. 

“ He ’s about and about !” replied the 
two boys, both using the same expression, 
either from sympathy or from constant in- 
tercourse. 

“ Can I see him, or can you find him 3” 

“No, sir,” said Mrs. Bucklebelt, “he 
comes and goes only when he chooses; 
first one place and then another; in the 
swamp, on foot, or horseback, just as the 
notion takes him.” 

“ I wish to see Major Walden,” said 
Julian. 

“ And you ’ll find him darnation mad I” 
said one of the second twins, “ about this 
affair of burning down daddy’s house, 
whilst he was gone off from home.” 

At this juncture a company of horsemen 
rode up. 

“ The Tories are coming back,” said 


112 


ONSLOW, 


Julius Cassar, “and let’s make sure of 
two !” 

“ Yes, of six !” answered Pompey, “ for 
there are ffuns enough for half a dozen 
shots.” 

“ Don’t shoot, my sons,” said Mrs. Buc- 
klebelt, “ for I can see no use.” 

“As the Lord lives!” exclaimed Julius 
Caesar, “ it ’s Coldfire and his boys I” 

“ A pretty spot of work this I” said Caesar 
and Pompey, at the same time. 

“ Yes,” replied the Lieutenant. 

“ And they hamstrung the colt, and cut 
off the duck’s necks, and stuffed dirt in the 
throats of Demosthenes and Cicero, because 
they might hereafter make speeches against 
their tyranny and corruption ; we had been 
out hunting, and just got home in time to 
see the mischief, for we broke for home as 
soon as we saw the smoke begin to rise 
right cleverly.” 

“ Enough,” said Coldfire, looking earn- 
estly at Julian, as if he recognized him. 

“It’s a friend, Mr. Coldfire,” said Mrs. 
Bucklebelt. 

“He ’s the man who made the big speech 
t’other day,” said one of Coldfire’s company, 
coming up and shaking hands with Julian; 
“ ain’t this enough to make the gall rise, 
and the blood boil, my young friend ?” 

“ It ’s a most dastardly act of cowardice,” 
replied Julian. 

“ We ’ve talked enough !” said Coldfire. 

The several persons then departed, Julian 
having stated his desire to proceed to Wal- 
den’s. Mrs. Bucklebelt and all her chil- 
dren, (except the two oldest, who joined 
Coldfire’s party,) were to proceed to Jede- 
diah Holiday’s. 

“ Go home with me, my young friend,” 
said one of the party, “ too many of us 
must not be seen together ; to-morrow you 
can find Walden’s, for it is very uncertain 
to-night, whether you will be admitted at 
unseasonable hours.” 

The speaker was a middle-aged man, of 
a calm and serious aspect, and spoke slowly 
and deliberately. 

“ My name, sir, is Jedediah Holiday.” 

“I have heard Captain Bucklebelt speak 
of you, and I am happy to become acquaint- 
ed with one he seems to prize so highly. I 
accept the invitation, with gratitude,” re- 
plied Julian. 

Jedediah was a most benignant and sanc- 
tified looking man, quiet in his gait, air, 
and gestures, and always wore a large 
brimmed hat, turned up behind, and dressed 
as nearly like a Methodist or Quaker as he 
could, not exactly to have been taken for 
one or the other. It is true that it was ra- 


ther dark for Julian to have seen distinctly 
the features of Jedediah, yet in lieu of the 
ordinary and mixed conversation of those 
who were going to his house, (for Julian 
and the whole of the Bucklebelts, with the 
exception of the two oldest, were on the 
road,) it seemed better to give the outlines 
of this revolutionary hero, whose long 
straight nose, wide mouth, and pliable 
lips, and long receding forehead, and dark 
sparkling eyes, and thick oily complexion, 
are no longer seen, to enliven and chebr 
those w'ho knew him ; he was an orderly, 
quiet man, and was full of the milk of hu- 
man kindness ; he was precise as to dates 
and facts, and circumstantial in his details, 
loved tobacco in all its applicabilities, and 
believed somewhat in the ghost and goblin 
stories of the country. 

The first thing which Jedediah did, after 
telling his wife of the house-burning and 
all its circumstances, which the fine graphic 
fancy of the narrator supplied, was to show 
Julian his children ; he went over most of 
the observations of Bucklebelt, for they in- 
terchanged ideas so freely, and had such a 
mutual respect for each other’s opinions, 
especially Holiday for what Bucklebelt ad- 
vanced, that to hear one was to hear the 
opinions of each. Holiday, however, to- 
wards ten o’clock, took compassion on the 
drowsy looks of his guest, who once more 
threw himself on a tolerable bed, and, al- 
though in a neighborhood full of adven- 
tures, yet he slept soundly, not even hav- 
ing been awakened by the twins and young 
soldiers. He awoke, however, by the time 
the sun was up, and, as had been previous- 
ly agreed upon, he and Jedediah Holiday 
started for the residence of Major Walden, 
which was but an hour’s walk from Holi- 
day’s. 

“ What is my prospect of seeing Major 
Walden 1” 

“ Now, as to that matter, Mr. Onslow,” 
said Jedediah, rather halting his pace, 
drawing out his tobacco, and taking a 
large quid, “I am thinking on that sub- 
ject, sir ; and the first question I would 
ask you is, whether you are the identical 
friend and associate of a strolling gipsy, 
known as the ‘Daughter of the Woods,’ 
and cognominally known as ‘ Edir Immer- 
son V ” 

“To be brief,” said Julian, “ I have re- 
ceived some acts of kindness at the hands 
of the woman ; and further, I have traveled 
with her, to warn this neighborhood of the 
very evils which have transpired.” 

“ Yes, sir,” said Holiday, “ I was relat- 
ing the history of the Blue Witch and the 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


113 


Black Cat to one of Lieutenant Coldfire’s 
men, (though Marcus himself has never 
been raised to a due sense of the beauties 
of history, and is withal rather lacking of 
words to convey his ideas, and therefore I 
opine that he eschews any lengthened dis- 
course;) I had barely got fairly into my 
tale, when we discovered the smoke of 
Bucklebelt’s cabin ; and I can assure you 
when that Boanerges returns, there will be 
no disinclination, as in our cases, to pursue 
the enemy.” 

“ Allow me, my dear sir,” said Julian, 
“ to be the judge of my own motives in 
this case. Do you think I can have an op- 
portunity of seeing Major Walden 

“ That question,” replied Jedediah, “ you 
have already propounded to me, which 
brings me to the second head of my an- 
swer, which is, if you are indeed a bona 
fide Whig, prudent and trustworthy, I 
should imagine that there would be no 
just grounds for Major Walden to refuse 
you an interview, especially if you give in 
advance good credentials from those who 
have his confidence, such as your humble 
servant, Mr. Gabbleton, Captain Buckle- 
belt, and last, though by no means the 
least, Edward Conway, his adopted son, 
and blood nephew, by the sister’s side.” 

They approached the mansion of Major 
Walden ; but Holiday, who was in the 
secrets of the party, halted against a double 
log cabin, stating that “ Mr. Gabbleton 
must be consulted before we approach the 
main dwelling, for he has a great regard 
for Major Walden, and alone knows when 
he sleeps, and is, withal, exceedingly tick- 
lish of allowing raw strangers from sud- 
denly disturbing the Major, ever since that 
old tinker has threatened his life.” 

“ What,” asked Julian, “did the miner- 
alogist make any such threat V' 

“ No, not an open one ; but they had a 
stiff quarrel about some projects and no- 
tions of the old counterfeiter, and Gabble- 
ton thinks he was merely sent as a spy 
upon the Major by Clannagan, or some of 
the Tory crew.” 

The reader is already acquainted with 
Mr. Gabbleton. He came out with an air 
of great briskness, in his shirt sleeves, and 
still masticating his breakfast, having his 
large whip, which was his usual append- 
age, over his shoulder and neck. He ex- 
claimed — 

“ Mr. Holiday, your most obedient — out 
early this morning — have the Tories burnt 
you out, root and branch 1 I look for them 
shortly, unless they are a little afraid of 


Coldfire and the rest of us; they must 
have got wind of him, no doubt.” 

“ Let me introduce to your acquaintance 
Mr. Julian Onslow, our late orator at the 
flat-rock, on the 4th of July last.” 

“I wish,” said Julian, offering his hand 
to Gabbleton, “ to see Major Walden, and 
will thank you to inform him, if he is at 
home, of my wish.” 

“Very well, sir,” he replied, taking off 
his whip, and twirling it in his hand, “I 
will see if it is the Major’s will to allow 
and permit you to have a chat, talk, or in- 
terview ; but he has been so much of late 
haunted and interrupted and aggravated, 
by the riffraff and populace, and the pell- 
mell, and helter-skelter pickle, of these co- 
lonies, or States, I should have said, and 
the offscourings, and the outward-bound, 
and the refusings of France, Germany, 
England, the Hessians, the Dutch, low and 
high, and other foreigners, outlandish sav- 
ages, buccaneers, brigands, and mauraud- 
ers, spies, tattlers, tinkers, counterfeiters, 
and needy beggars, Whigs and Tories, re- 
gulators, and orphans seeking guardians, 
and widows wanting husbands; besides 
many other kinds, sorts and descriptions, 
too tedious to mention, to call over, or 
speak of, that I am doubtful and per- 
plexed, Mr. or Squire, especially if you 
are in confidence and friendship with Mc- 
Ilhaney, or be the traveling companion of 
that Indian witch, which Mr. Edward saw, 
on the Fourth of July last past, or have any 
knowledge of, or fellowship with a certain 
man known as a mineralogist, chemist, spy, 
and hypocrite, otherwise called Geoffrey 
Jarvis — ” 

“ I have nothing to communicate to you, 
sir, in reply to your multifarious words; 
I wish to see Major Walden on important 
matters, which alone concern both of 
us.” 

“ But, sir,” continued Gabbleton, “ in 
these days of assassination, chichanery, mi- 
neralogy, arson, house burning, and ham- 
stringing horses, cattle and poultry ; and 
choking innocent children, and insulting 
females and innocent women ; and seeing 
that insults and threats have been offered 
to Major Walden, I do not feel inclined or 
willing to give aid, comfort or assistance 
to any person or persons whomsoever, un- 
der any suspicions or inuendoes ; not say- 
ing, however, in any way that such is your 
situation, predicament, disposition, or in- 
clination.” 

“ For Heaven’s sake, ascertain whether I 
am to be allowed the interview, for I have 
but little time to spare for any kind of con- 


114 


ONSLOW, 


versation, however interesting it may be 
to each of you.” 

“ Exactly right, stranger, I have as little 
time to throw away in words or verbiage 
as most men or people ; but, sir, this may 
be a coup-de-main, a stratagem, ambus- 
cade, or some devilment, to take a running 
start upon the Major ; and 1 perceive that 
you have arms, or rather I see the swell 
and bulging of one, and there may be many 
others concealed, hid, and secreted about 
your body or person.” 

Holiday instinctively stepped back. 

“ Yes, pistols, dirks or knives, are equal- 
ly dangerous,” said he. “ Go, Gabbleton, 
and see the Major, for you will lead Ons- 
low into some overt act of treason against 
us; or cause some of us to break the 
peace.” 

Julian deemed it unnecessary to make 
any reply. At one time he was tempted 
to resent the observations of Gabbleton, 
but it was a momentary impulse ; for he 
perceived that he used words instead of 
ideas. 

In a few moments Gabbleton stood in the 
portico, and beckoned to Holiday and Ju- 
lian. He used signs, being disposed not to 
disturb the composure of the Major by any 
garrulous display of his powers of lungs 
and speech. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

’Tis a sweet picture, mid the parted locks, 

The brow is white and open, it confides 
On the fair features . 

L. E. L. 

Julian and his friendly guide, Jedediah 
Holiday, were conducted by Gabbleton into 
the usual sitting room. It was supplied 
with furniture, rather of the fashion of 
former times, and a dingy and somewhat 
faded carpet kept up the tout ensemble 
admirably ; various prints and portraits 
were hung indiscriminately on the walls, 
once whitewashed, but now in full keeping 
with the carpet and furniture. Amongst 
the portraits, that of Edward Conway’s was 
immediately detected by Julian from its 
exact likeness. The daring and bold bear- 
ing of the elder Walden’s, contrasted finely 
with the settled and melancholy features 
of his lady’s portrait. The feelings of Ju- 
lian were strongly and strangely excited — 
doubt and hope alternately swayed his 
breast, as he gazed upon the relics and 
images of the living and the dead. But 
the reflections of Julian were soon inter- 


rupted by the appearance of Major Walden, 
who accosted him and his companions by 
saying, 

“ Good morning, gentlemen. How are 
you to-day, Mr. Holiday]” 

“ I am well. Major Walden, except a 
bad cold, and a little touch of the rheuma- 
tics, I give you thanks. Major Walden, 
this is the young orator, Julian Onslow,” 
pointing and advancing towards Julian, 
“ and this, Mr. Onslow, is Major Micajah 
Walden.” 

These salutations and introductions be- 
ing over, breakfast was announced. Julian, 
whilst at the table, did not fail to notice the 
somewhat supercilious air which played 
over the features of Major Walden ; he 
encountered his full dark brown eyes — he 
marked his manly bearing, his strong broad 
masculine frame, his full high rounded 
forehead, swelling temples and dark heavy 
eye brows, all of which gave, in addition 
to the firm, hard and compact chin, com- 
pressed lips, and a large well set nose, 
slightly inclining to Roman, the appear- 
ance of pride and irascibility. Nothing 
but a half laughing cast of the eye or a 
transient smile was seen to take off the 
regularly haughty aspect of his features — 
his politeness barely escaped bluntness, 
and his air of condescension savored large- 
ly of self-esteem and a conscious superi- 
ority. Major Walden attempted to be 
jovial. Julian was all attention, marking 
with minuteness each word and variation 
of his features, attaching more meaning, as 
is too often the case, than their real im- 
portance would justify. But if Julian was 
thus immoderately excited, his friend Holi- 
day overbalanced it, by the calm and de- 
termined attack he made upon fried eggs 
and ham, and other appendages to a good 
breakfast. Slow and deliberate as he 
usually was in speech, yet in the use a.nd 
direction of the implements of intrepid 
feeding, he had at least, in the eys of Ju- 
lian, few equals ; he seemed to act upon 
the principle of doing but one thing at a 
time, answering with a grunt or a nod the 
questions or observations of his host. 

But Holiday had no sooner risen from 
the table, than he marched boldly up to 
the cause of his visit, remarking to the 
Major that he had come over with his 
young Whig friend to pilot him the way ; 
and that no doubt he had much choice and 
interesting news to convey ; “ for,” added 
Holiday as he concluded, “ he has been in 
the very midst of the enemy’s camp.” 

“We are all friends,” replied the Major, 
“ and if the gentleman has any matters of 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


115 


importance to relate, he will please pro- 
ceed.” 

Julian briefly stated, that however anxi- 
ous he might be to furnish important infor- 
mation, yet his visit was one of a private 
and personal nature; “and,” continued Ju- 
lian, “ I wish the ear of Major Walden 
alone, if his engagements and convenience 
will admit of a private interview.” 

“ Certainly, sir! certainly, sir!” replied 
Major Walden, “ we will retire to the 
hall. Mr. Holiday, you and Gabbleton, 
if you can find him, may take the fresh 
air, for it is a pleasant morning, bracing 
and exhilarating ; nothing but our oppres- 
sions prevent us from being a prosperous 
and happy people.” 

Julian, with a heart throbbing with anx- 
iety, now about to unravel the hitherto in- 
explicable mystery which shrouded his 
life, and to seek advice from a haughty 
stranger, began by apologizing for obtrud- 
ing himself upon the privacy of an un- 
known gentleman, and the time he might 
take up in the present interview. 

“ No apologies, sir,” replied the Major 
quickly, “ I shall be poorly paid by them, 
if you have nothing of importance to com- 
municate ; and if you have I shall be the 
debtor; proceed, sir, at once.” 

After this command, Julian frankly re- 
lated that he had been taken a prisoner by 
the loyalists in Philadelphia; had been 
from some unknown reason conveyed to 
Charleston, and there paroled. He spoke 
of his obligations to Notwood and Gant; 
his journey to the interior ; his mission to 
Col. Conway’s ; his attack from Snyder 
and McQuirk; his strange interview with 
Edir Immerson, and her ominous predic- 
tions ; his mental misgivings as to the pro- 
per course he should pursue whilst holding 
a parole ; his great obligations to Nanny 
Hart for his second escape from Snyder 
and his par'.y; his determination to find 
some leading Whigs, and his great desire 
to see him. He spoke of the intercepted 
letter between Clannagan and Notwood — 
his fortunate acquaintance with Buckle- 
belt — his narrow escape at Mcllhaney’s. 
In fine, he minutely detailed most of the 
leading particulars of his adventures al- 
ready recorded. 

“ Why !” exclaimed the Major, “ you 
have had many ups and downs — adventures 
and narrow escapes. It has been the mis- 
fortune of many of us, and no doubt others, 
with the same fruitful fancy and happy 
command of language which you seem to 
possess, could narrate and embody many 
incidents, as full of marvel and strange 


concurrence of wayward circumstances as 
have befallen you.” 

“ Very true, sir,” replied Julian, “ I lay 
no claim to be the peculiar football of for- 
tune ; but the matter which most concerns 
me, is the deep absorbing mystery w’hich 
hangs over my parentage, and the multi- 
plied difficulties which surround me.” 

“ ‘ He is a wise son who knows his own 
father,’ says the old proverb, but to be se- 
rious, my young friend, why have you 
come to me on these particular subjects 1” 

“ Simply,” replied Julian, “ because 
Clannagan called me a hereditary scoun- 
drel, and- 1 must be of Whig parentage — 
and I understood you knew most of the in- 
habitants of the South, and I hoped that 
I might learn some clue from you.” 

“ Indeed !” exclaimed the Major, sud- 
denly springing to his feet, and thrusting 
his fingers in his hair and striding across 
the room, whilst he glanced his eyes fully 
upon Julian — “Indeed, sir,” continued 
Major Walden, after stopping and looking 
on the fine healthful and somewhat flushed 
features of his visiter. “ This,” said he, 
with a cast of countenance laboring be- 
tween anger and a smothered smile, “ is 
the last, the very last notion, of all the 
wild notions which any man in his senses 
could possibly have conceived. Now, Mr. 
Onslow, if you had hinted that you were 
my son, nephew, (and I have no Irrothers 
and but one sister,) cousin, or even half 
brother, there might have been some 
grounds for such imaginings. But as your 
hand is in, be so good as to give me all the 
particulars wdiich lead you to the conclu- 
sion that I have the honor of an acquaint- 
ance with your progenitors ; for I vow, sir, 
that I have seen few better looking men, 
whether born in or out of wedlock ; and 
for your especial benefit I will candidly 
tell you, that I believe that I am talking 
to the son of an impostor, aye, sir, of the 
mineralogist.” 

Julian, at all times ready to resent the 
slightest infringement upon his rights, now 
sat irresolute; he scarcely comprehended 
the last wmrds of Major Walden ; they 
seemed with others that he had heard to 
put an end to all his high wrought expec- 
tations; he at length seemed to recover 
himself 

“ It is a duty which I owe to myself, and 
with your permission I will avail myself of 
the present opportunity,” said Julian, who 
proceeded to state his utter ignorance of 
his relations. He assured Major Walden 
that he came in a spirit neither of idle cu- 
riosity, nor was he actuated by pecuniary 


116 


ONSLOW, 


interest. “It is, sir,” said Julian, with 
evident agitation, “ the deep feelings of 
the heart which prompt me. It is the dark 
and mysterious heavings of a breast op- 
pressed with doubts and darkness, attempt- 
ing to shove a mountain from crushing it! 
Sir, I would rather be the son of the mine- 
ralogist — yea, of the commonest yeoman 
of the country — although hated and exe- 
crated, and know the truth, than remain 
with the torturing doubts and uncertainty 
which forever perplex me, and unnerve me 
in the best schemes which I attempt to 
execute.” 

“ Aha !” exclaimed the Major, “ who are 
the parties urging you to this interview 1 
a clan of thieves and hypocrites, and needy 
partisans of the British I Let me tell you,” 
continued the speaker with a scowl of deep 
meaning, “ I hope that one so young has 
not lent himself to an unholy alliance to 
extort money from me, or to alienate my 
affections from Edward Conway, or to have 
my property confiscated ; to be claimed 
after I have been either banished or mur- 
dered I” 

“ I am here,” fiercely replied Julian, 
“ in the character of a gentleman, and 
have made my statements fairly ; you may 
draw what conclusions you please — I am 
done with the subject forever; and how- 
ever I might have been honored by a kinder 
reception, or a more patient hearing, yet I 
shall leave you with the consolation of not 
having merited your disingenuous insinua- 
tions — and elsewhere, let me tell you, and 
under different circumstances, you would 
not venture safely upon such an imputation 
to my face.” 

“ Threats are but wind, my young brag- 
gart, and always give me time to cool 
down — a look or gesture is the signal with 
me — but I war not with adventurers ; but 
enough of replication, of threats, when you 
get fairly in my way, then, sir, the closer 
the conflict the better. Recollect for an 
instant — admitting that you are honest in 
all that you have said — the slender testi- 
mony, and the character of those frckn 
whom you draw your pretended facts, 
would not in your own mind establish their 
truth ; and surely you must confess, that I 
have seen but little, so far, to cause me to 
wish to become your acknowledged co- 
laborer in ferreting out your parentage. 
The cities of antiquity may enter the lists 
of contention for the honor of giving birth 
to a Homer, or a successful general, but 
when the competition is opened for the 
honor of claiming you, either as a friend or 


ward, I imagine that the contestors will be 
few indeed.” 

Julian’s situation was singularly perplex- 
ing ; the stern and candid bearing of Major 
Walden forbade the conclusion that he 
was acting his part through the mere de- 
sign of concealing or excluding truth ; but 
Julian, like others, when a strong and cher- 
ished thought has taken possession of their 
minds, could not so readily believe that his 
conjectures rested on a slight or trifling 
foundation ; but whatever mortification he 
experienced in having liis high wrought 
expectations suddenly dashed to the ground, 
yet he determined to depart at once. 

“ Excuse,” said Julian, taking his hat to 
depart, “ my intrusion, if one it may be 
called ; for I confess that I have been loser 
in this interview, and let me beseech you 
to dismiss all your fears of any combina- 
tion on my part with others, to rob you of 
your reputation, or your money, for I most 
cheerfully forego all the prospective honors 
likely to be reaped in such a field.” 

“ Pretty well spoken,” replied the Major, 
biting his lip and suppressing his voice, “I 
like the game, though it shows itself after 
repeated prickings.” 

“ I came not hither to bandy harsh words, 
nor shall I, in your own house, willingly 
use any language unbefitting a stranger or 
a gentleman ; the conference I now break 
oft’ forever.” 

“ Oh I not so fast, neither,” said the Ma- 
jor, rather going between Julian and the 
door, “I must hold a short consultation 
over your case, with our two friends Holi- 
day and Gabbleton ; a council of war; cer- 
tainly one so very valiant cannot object 
to the military standard.” 

“ A council of fools, the confusion of a 
team of wild horses, and the creeping gait 
of the snail.” 

“ You grow facetious, as I grow serious ; 
come Mr. Onslow, let us drop the quarrel, 
and let me treat you as a Whig. If you 
have been deceived and disappointed in 
your views, I am anxious that you should 
not suffer as a defender of our common 
cause ; let me hear your future prospects.” 

There was so much kindness in the tone 
and manner of the request, that Julian al- 
most regretted his previous ill-natured re- 
marks ; and he was still more inclined to 
relent, when Major Walden added, after a 
short pause, “ Wiiy sir, you have not told 
me any thing concerning your early history. 

I am anxious to hear more of you, and let 
me assure you that nothing shall prevent 
me from weighing every particular, and 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


117 


giving the necessary attention due to the 
facts you may present. If they lead to any 
claims upon me as a member of the Whig 
party, I shall be willing and ready to do 
my duty.” 

This was touching the right chord again ; 
Julian still clung to the hope that he might 
learn something, might strike out a spark, 
which would furnish a torch to light him 
through the many windings of the laby- 
rinth which had hitherto proved so inex- 
tricably dark ; and he who a few moments 
ago was breathing defiance and threats, 
again seated himself and detailed the fol- 
lowing narrative : 

Julian’s account of his early history. 

“ I am unable to say where I was born, 
or who are my parents. I know not a hu- 
man being with whom I can claim rela- 
tionship ; my first impressions recur to a 
small stream, on the banks of which I used 
to gambol — a large flat rock on the west 
side of a log-cabin, with a shed attached to 
the end, 1 recollect well the large flat rock 
and an excavation in its middle, I recollect 
seeing a gentleman pour water on his head 
and letting it fall into this excavation, I 
think he had a large white spot on the right 
side of his head, I further recollect the 
name of his horse, it was Speed ; I recol- 
lect his feeding the horse with peaches, 
from his hand, and then directing him to 
wallow.” 

“ Important incidents,” muttered the 
Major, to himself, apparently attempting to 
recollect some indistinct image, which he 
could not call up. 

“ The next I recollect, was riding in a 
vehicle, a kind of carriage, with a gentle- 
man who was kind, and gave me many lit- 
tle presents ; the journey was long, and I 
have nothing but a vague and floating re- 
collection of the incidents of our inter- 
course ; the features of the man and those 
with whom I had associated, are like an ill 
remembered dream. In vain have I strain- 
ed my memory to call up the past — but the 
thick mists were impenetrable ; I have told 
all that I could rescue from the days of my 
earliest childhood. 

“The next epoch of my life begins with 
my distinct recollection of what transpired 
in Philadelphia; my arrival, my associa- 
tions at school, and many impressions made 
on me, are still distinctly remembered, but 
they shed no light on the bewildered mind, 
and leave no hope that they can material- 
ly assist in unravelling the mystery. My 
mother and fatlier, as I supposed, the per- 
sons with whom I resided, taught me to 

9 


call them by the endearing names of father 
and mother ; but it is useless to go over all 
the incidents of a school-boy’s days, they 
have again and again been scanned, to no 
purpose ; they furnish no clew to my birth 
or parentage.” 

“ But,” interrupted the Major, “ it seems 
that one so active, so anxious as you seem, 
could ere this have combined particulars, or 
learnt from your associates some data, up- 
on which you might have built a reasonable 
conclusion ; although,” added he, “ it will 
be necessary for you to be exceedingly cir- 
cumspect, as to the, testimony and conclu- 
sions to which you may arrive.” 

“ No, sir, the lame and unsatisfactory 
conjectures to which I was lending my be- 
lief, and which now are to be numbered 
with the fictions of fancy, were those only 
which had any claims on my belief.” 

Major Walden shook his head, as if say- 
ing, “ No more of that.” 

“I have just learned,” continued Julian, 

“ your opinion on that subject, and of course 
have no disposition ever again to pursue it. 
You may well judge of my great surprise, 
when I first had misgivings that the per- 
sons with whom I lived were not my pa- 
rents. In my sixteenth year, I had made 
some progress in learning and occasionally 
attended the Theatre ; one night, as some 
allusion in the play was made to chemis- 
try, a man muffled in a cloak, after various 
questions concerning the play, the science 
of chemistry, and other subjects, earnestly 
solicited an interview with me at the cor- 
ner of certain streets, as he had some- 
thing of importance to communicate. I met 
him, and for the first time heard the start- 
ling fact that those I supposed were my pa- 
rents, were not. Step by step he led me 
on, descanting on the glorious discoveries 
in chemistry, and principally with its con- 
quests over the metallic kingdom ; he de- 
scribed the pleasures and benefits of the 
study to the student and its magnitude to 
the world. ‘ Columbus,’ he exclaimed, 

‘ discovered the surface, the mere hulk, we 
shall unbosom the treasures of the world ; 
we shall read nature in its elementary ope- 
rations. Leave ! leave !’ he continued, ‘ the 
poisoned air of the city, those whom you 
call father and mother are impostors ; look 
at their French names, their French skins, , 
and physiognomies, do their features or 
hair favor yours 1 look, too, at the coming 
struggle between this country and Eng- 
land ; your parentage is noble, your father’s 
blood would rush to your traitor cheeks, if 
your tongue were to acknowledge that you 
were the child of Villoc ! and if you do 


118 


ONSLOW, 


not pursue the destiny to which you now 
have been dedicated^, the deed would be 
damned to your conscience,’ This appeal,” 
continued Julian, “unfixed my resolutions. 
But even without this direct enconrage- 
ment, to take sides with the oppressed, my 
readings and admiration of the ancient 
patriots, would have led towards the Re- 
publican standard ; and I dwelt in my stu- 
dies upon the wrongs of our country. I 
treasured up every sentence and found par- 
allels in the history!’of the oppressions of 
every country. I could not believe the 
man an impostor ; in all his letters and in- 
terviews he warned me to secrecy, he al- 
ways w’ore a mask.” 

“ Can it be possible,” asked Major Wal- 
den, “ that you did not learn his name, nor 
his features, nor his reasons for showing so 
much interest in your actions'?” 

Julian continued — “To every effort I 
made to discover the relation he bore to 
me, or to fathom his designs, the reply 
was, ‘you shall know all at a proper sea- 
son, and especially when you engage in the 
study of the sublime science of chemistry, 
and especially of mineralogy.’ ” 

“Would you know him by no peculiari- 
ty of his person — you could never forget his 
voice ■?” said the Major, earnestly. 

“ No doubt,” answered Julian,” circum- 
stances being the same, I should recognize 
his person and his voice, but unless he 
knew something to disclose, it would avail 
me nothing; I have at times doubted 
whether he really knew any thing of my 
early history.” 

“But to continue,” said Julian, “when 
I first announced my doubts to Mrs. Villoc, 
my reputed mother, she exclaimed, ‘ some 
vile traitor has killed me,’ and I had to use 
every means of solace to prevent her from 
sinking under the terrible shock. A visi- 
ble and rapid decline came on, and I had 
the inexpressible mortification to see that 
the disclosure of my belief had contribut- 
ed in some degree to bring on more rapid- 
ly her dangerous illness. Her husband, 
under the excitement of my fears for her 
health, extorted a promise from me not to 
listen to, or believe in the designs of those 
who might suggest an idea that he was not 
my father. In the meanwhile, the public 
meetings and proceedings against the mo- 
ther country, began to attract my attention ; 
and I received a letter from my mysterious 
acquaintance, calling on me to join the pa- 
riots. ‘ I swear, said he,’ in one of his let- 
ters, ‘that you will become a benefactor to 
your country, and the pride of your now un- 
knowm family ; urge on the colonists to re- 


sistance, and study the sublime science of 
mineralogy,’ such were the glowing words 
which he often used, and I confess they had 
some effect to impel me to take a decided 
stand in defence of our liberties.” 

“ Let me ask you, candidly,” said Major 
Walden, “if Geoffrey Jarvis, mineralogist, 
as he calls himself, is by possibility the 
same man, to whom you have made so many 
references as the mineralogist 

“ On two occasions I thought that I had 
met with my mysterious correspondent,” 
replied Julian, “and I have been exceed- 
ingly anxious to see and converse with the 
person you have mentioned ; but I found he 
was in bad odor with you, else my suspi- 
cions, or rather hopes, should have been 
mentioned to you.” 

“ You are right, he is in exceedingly bad 
odor with me. 1 tell you, sir, that a more 
consummate hypocrite and knave cannot 
be found in this whole state ; overrun and 
filled, as it is, with the very dregs of vil- 
lany; let me warn you against his machi- 
nations. Sir, I may offend you, but I must, 

I will speak my mind ; I say that his whole 
course, in this state, points him out as your 
father, endeavoring to obtain a fortune, by 
hook or by crook, for his son.” 

“ I confess that I have no such suspicions. 
And my mysterious adviser denied that I 
was his son; and Mrs. Villoc on her death 
bed exclaimed, ‘ forgive me, my dear Julian, 
instinct stronger than stratagem could not 
be overcome — no, you are not our child — 
all I know, is, that you came from the 
South, from whence, funds have through 
some agency been regularly transmitted, 
until lately an arrangement has been made 
for your maintenance and education with 
my husband — excuse me, he will explain 
all.’ My feelings were overcome, and I fell 
on her neck, asking her forgiveness ; and I 
assure you, that I have always regretted 
that I ever learned that she was not my 
mother. I saw the hectic flush that so 
falsely deceives ; the brilliant eye kindling 
its last fires, before they expire ; the sharp 
attenuated features ; I saw the settled and 
stern composure of a death-hed. The 
damning unbelief which I had cherished, 
now rushed apon me, and although she had 
confirmed the fact, yet I could not forgiva 
myself; like shafts of barbed steel, the 
thoughts pierced my inmost heart. She 
saw my agony, ‘ I forgive you my child, 
my son, you have my parting blessing and 
my parting injunction, to meet me where 
there is no more parting.’ ” 

This part of the narrative greatly af- 
fected Julian, and he paused, to recover 


I 


A TALE OP THE SOUTH. 


119 


from the melancholy recollections of the 
past. Major Walden, in the meanwhile, 
sat with his eyes fixed on the carpet stern- 
ly, attempting to stifle his feelings. 

“The shock,” continued Julian, “was 
too great for each of us — she soon expired, 
and in the appalling disruption of all my 
earthly ties, of all that I really loved, I 
fell almost lifeless to the floor ; when I had 
recovered from the shock, Mr. Villoc up- 
braided me with my want of prudence, de- 
claring that my excessive grief had no 
doubt hastened her dissolution ; from that 
moment, I became estranged in feeling 
from my reputed father. Often have I re- 
paired to the grave of Mrs. Villoc, to soothe 
my grief and keep down my angry feelings 
towards her husband, who treated me with 
marked unkindness. In vain I appealed to 
him to disclose the secret of my parentage 
— my history. Debauch after debauch fol- 
lowed in constant succession, until death 
put an end to them, and to my expecta- 
tions of learning any thing from his lips.” 

“ What a horrible exit,” exclaimed Ma- 
jor Walden, “but, continued he, did not 
his papers furnish some facts to your pur- 
pose 1” 

“ Not a syllable,” replied Julian ; “ his 
creditors were clamorous for the payment 
of their debts ; and he previously told me 
that every vestige of my secret was de- 
stroyed in order to make me more subser- 
vient to his designs ; but I looked upon it 
as a mere threat, and although he told me 
that the secret should die with him, yet I 
hoped to find something amongst his pa- 
pers to assist me in my inquiries. Hostili- 
ties becoming more and more open ; hav- 
ing but a short time previous to Mr. 
Villoc’s death refused to listen to his pro- 
posals to join the loyalists, I made diligent 
inquiries after my unknown friend ; but 
to no purpose. I immediately assumed the 
name of Onslow, because I knew no one 
by that name, and volunteered as a soldier, 
and after the battle of Germantown, I was 
commissioned to go on an expedition into 
the city to ascertain the strength of the 
enemy and to learn the disposition of our 
friends. My company, few in numbers, 
started with high spirits. I soon learned, 
after I had entered the city, where the 
head-quarters of the British officers were ; 
we determined to surprise them, and from 
my acquaintance with the different streets 
we succeeded in eluding the guards. We 
assumed the habits and appearance of the 
common country people ; and by various 
well understood arrangements, succeeded 
in placing our hooks and ladders so admi- 


rably, as to gain an entrance into a portico 
which led us to a passage, giving free ac- 
cess to the different rooms in which several 
officers slept. So little noise was made, 
amidst the loud wind and rain, that the 
sentinel was surprised without giving any 
alarm of our approach. The sentinel 
pointed out the several rooms occupied by 
the officers. 

“We had secured four officers, and had 
given them the necessary paroles, promis- 
ing a speedy exchange, when we ascer- 
tained that a newly married couple were 
in the house ; a brother-in-law to Major 
Arbuckle, (the aid to Sir Henry Clinton.) 
The eagerness to arrest him, and the 
wicked delight of some of my men, accord- 
ed illy with our delicate and perilous situ- 
ation. At my request. Major Arbuckle 
stated the situation of affairs to the officer 
and his lady, 

“ ‘ Are you a prisoner. Major Arbuckle 1’ 
asked Captain Armond. 

“ ‘ Yes, my dear sir, with two strong 
men at my elbows, with their pistols cock- 
ed, ready to blow out my brains — surrender 
at once.’ 

“ ‘ Let them shoot, sir ! if you wish me 
to surrender to the kidnapping rebels,’ re- 
plied Capt. Armond, to the friendly request 
of his brother-in-law. 

“We could distinctly hear the sighs and 
sobs of his lady, entreating him for her 
sake, for his life’s sake, to surrender. 

“ ‘ You must surrender quickly, time is 
precious, we are in danger, and we must 
force the door, however unpleasant the 
task.’ I shall never forget the wild shriek 
of the lady, as I announced my determina- 
tion to force open the door.” 

“ Was the lady Mrs. Julia Armond, re- 
cently on a visit to Charleston!” asked 
Major Walden. 

Julian gave a nod of assent. 

“Then,” continued Major Walden, “you 
committed a most ungallant act, however 
much soldier-like hardihood was exhibited 
in the enterprise.” 

“I admit the truth of what you have 
said,” replied Julian, “but there was no 
alternative ; the scene had to be acted out. 
I called to Capt. Armond to say that he 
would abstain from hostilities, and consi- 
der himself as paroled, until he could be 
exchanged ; you owe it to your lady. 

“ His reply to my request was ^uick 
and menacing, 

“ ‘ I mean to defend myself to the last 
extremity ; and let me tell you, sir, that I 
know my duty to my king, my wife and 
myself, without your impertinent advice, 


120 


ONSLOW, 


and the first man who enters my room shall 
die.’ 

“We have the lion pent ; your wife shall 
have a safe exit from the room. If you 
will not come to terms, we will make them 
for you. We heard nothing’ but sobs from 
the wife and defiance from the husband. 

“ ‘ I surrender him as a prisoner, or when 
exchanged, I place myself in his place, or 
an officer of equal rank shall be exchanged 
in his stead.’ Such was the agreement 
which Major Arbuckle publicly made. We 
hastily took down the names of the cap- 
tives, and gave them paroles ; amongst the 
first handed in was that to Capt. Arinond. 

“ ‘ To whom,’ asked he, ‘ am I indebted 
for this voluntary honor!’ 

“ ‘ Your parole, sir,’ replied Major Ar- 
buckle, is subscribed Julian Onslow.’ 

“ ‘ What !’ exclaimed Captain Armond, 

‘ the reputed son of Villoc, and the dis- 
carded admirer of Miss Grayson! Do you 
hear that, Julia! lam sold and betrayed 
to your pretended friend and admirer.’ I 
did not wait for an answer, time was too 
precious.” 

“ Let me understand you on one point, 
Mr. Onslow, did you allude to St. Ille 
Grayson!” asked Major Walden. , 

“The same,” replied Julian, coloring 
deeply, “ who, if I am not misinformed, 
resides in this neighborhood.” 

“ Did you know her in Philadelphia!” 

“I had that honor,” answered Julian. 

“ Well, sir, my nephew must brace him- 
self up, as he is to be supplanted — is to be 
blown up,” continued the Major, rising 
from his seat and walking to the door with 
his hands thrust in his breeches pockets, 
whilst Julian, somewhat confused, began to 
offer a flat denial of meditating any scheme 
against the rights or interests of Edward 
Conway whatever. 

“ I am busy, Mr, Gabbleton,” exclaimed 
Major Walden, scarcely noticing Julian’s 
answer — “ busy, sir at the same time 
waving his hand to Gabbleton to retire. 

“ Excuse me. Major, I only came to see 
if the traveling companion of the daughter 
of the woods, and a visitor of old Mcllha- 
ney’s, was walking a chalked line; for I 
have just learned from my friend Jedediah 
Holiday—” 

“You interrupt me, Mr. Ga'bbleton, go 
and hear him over again,” said the Major 
impatiently. 

“ I ’d rather by your leave be at some- 
thing else this fine weather, for Holiday is 
so particularly tedious, and so used to long 
harangues, that I rather dread to encoun- 
ter him a second time ; as he generally 


very much uneasys and distresses me.” 
Thus continued Gabbleton as he left the 
Major, who turning to Julian said, 

“ Excuse the well meant intrusion of 
Mr. Gabbleton, sir ! he is as faithful as my 
faithful Tom Thumb at the mention of 
his name, a huge yellow mastiff of the 
Spanish bull species, remarkable for his 
full deep chest and heavy head, and full 
red eyes, sprung up from behind the door 
and walked forth, looking eagerly at Julian 
as if he wished to show his sagacity and 
strength. “ Go back. Thumb — go back,” 
said Major Walden, who still thinking of 
the matter last under discussion said, 

“ Edward little imagines he has a rival 
in one of his Whig friends ; one who, ac- 
cording to his own account, seems quite 
enamored of adventures.” 

“Sir,” replied Julian earnestly, “Mr. 
Conway has my warmest respects, and 
shall always be treated by me as a gentle- 
man and friend.” 

“ You know my nephew, then !” asked 
Major Walden. 

“ Yes, sir, I saw him on the Fourth of 
July last, and yourself also.” 

“ True ! very true, sir ; but that was a 
public occasion.” * 

“And,” continued Julian, “I saw him 
at the great conciliation ball, as it was 
called.” 

“And me also! By heavens !” exclaim- 
ed Major Walden, “ you are the fellow 
who so officiously insulted me there !” 

“ You are mistaken in that affair,” re- 
plied Julian, rising suddenly to his feet. 

“ I have racked my brain,” continued 
the excited Major, “ to recollect when and 
where I had heard your voice.” 

“I tell you, once for all,” replied Julian, 

“ that you are sadly mistaken in that trans- 
action.” 

This fierce and quick answer again 
roused the vigilant mastiff, and he rushed 
forward this time ready to fly at Julian as 
an enemy of his master ; but Major Wal- 
den seized him by his strong collar, saying, 

“ Down, Thumb.” The sagacious animal 
submitted with a show of considerable re- 
luctance, growling and attempting to look 
back, although wagging his tail to each 
admonition as he was led to another room. 
After Major Walden had secured him by 
fastening a door upon him, he turned to 
Julian, and with some show of warmth 
said, 

“ There is one conclusion at least I can- 
not be mistaken in, Mr. Villoc, alias Mr. 
Onslow ; although you may not be in 
league with my enemies in word, j'et so 


A TALE OP THE SOUTH. 


121 


long as you associate with, aid and abet 
them, you are in fact a particeps criminis 
against myself and my nephew Edward 
Conway.” 

“ A conclusion, not more sage, nor half 
so just, were I to go hence,” replied Julian, 
with a smile of cutting severity, “ and say 
that I had just witnessed the exhibitions 
of a menagerie, comprising the lion, the 
jackall, the dog, and if it were not doing 
Mr. Holiday too much injustice, (notwith- 
standing he appears to be a special retainer 
of yours,) I would add the jackass to the 
list.” 

“ Quite complimentary, sir, coming from 
the source it does,” retorted Major Wal- 
den, with ill-disguised irony. But he sud- 
denly checked himself, and with an air of 
more calmness said, “ Be seated, Mr. Ons- 
low, I am wrong, sir, and here is my hand 
in token of good feeling, and I now offer 
you an apology for any harshness of word 
or manner I have used 'or exhibited. You 
are my guest — and by my earnest entrea- 
ties related words and transactions which 
excited me into a momentary impropriety 
of conduct towards you. The rights of a 
gentleman at ray house shall at all times 
be respected.” 

The noble and manly tone of candor — 
the glow of the countenance heightened by 
the temporary excitement — the sincere and 
generous words of apology and regret, ex- 
hibited Major Walden in his true charac- 
ter : a warm-tempered and noble gentle- 
man — quick as a lighted match, and as 
generous as the noble lion, to which he 
had just been compared, after it has con- 
quered its equals. 

Julian was too well bred to refuse to 
take hold of the proffered hand, or to ac- 
cept the chair which was presented to 
him ; but after he had heard Major Wal- 
den out he rose, saying, 

“ If I had had any desire to receive apo- 
logies from you, I am now precluded from 
doing so. You have retracted nothing of 
the force of your unjust insinuations and 
charges ; but rather made them more pal- 
pable, and have left them quite as objec- 
tionable, by withdrawing the covering with 
which momentary anger might be sup- 
posed to have imbued and invested them. 
It is true, sir, you have shown that your 
sense of politeness was commensurate with 
the station you occupy — a trite and cheap, 
though merited homage, due at least to 
self-respect. But you deceive yourself if 
you suppose that I can be induced to en- 
dorse the injustice done to my best mo- 
tives, as well as to that of some of my. 


friends ; and you certainly mistake me if 
you suppose that T can be led to acquiesce 
silently in the justice of your intentions, so 
long as I give you credit for a common 
share of penetration; nor shall your po- 
liteness extort a heartless acknowledge- 
ment from me. Be assured, sir, that whilst 
the Parthian weapon is left unplucked, I 
shall deem it worse than folly to entrust 
the same hand which threw it with the 
cure of the wound ! I hope I am at liberty 
to depart.” 

“Most unquestionably,” replied Major 
Walden, “ you certainly should enjoy the 
same freedom in departing, that you exer- 
cised in coming. I made my apology to 
you frankly. I retract nothing except the 
warmth of manner and language. Truth 
at all times, and under any circumstance, 
should not lightly be evaded or suppressed ; 
and if it has been felt this morning — if any 
hidden recesses of the heart, unaccustomed 
to its salutary lessons, have been reached — 
if any good should be the result, then after 
all you are my debtor. Sir, I wish you 
better success,” added the speaker, deter- 
mined to shake hands with Julian, who 
seemed impatient to start, “ hereafter in 
your search after truth, and in forming as- 
sociates and friends.” 

Such was the result of the interview 
between Major W^alden and Julian ; one 
which ended in mutual irritation and dis- 
trust ; confirming the former in his previ- 
ous belief that a league of unprincipled 
men was formed and actively prosecuted 
to involve himself and Edward Conway in 
ruin, and lay the foundation for further 
persecutions and frauds from the loyalists 
and Tories. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

Jeron . — Go on. 

Sylv . — And figruring many a shape grotesque, 

Camels, and caravans, and mighty beasts. 

Hot prancing steeds, and warriors plumed and helmed, 
All in the blue sky floating. 

The Broken Heart. 

The incidents recorded in these chap- 
ters are necessarily confined to the promi- 
nent traits and events calculated to de- 
lineate the different shades of character, or 
the temper of the times ; and the under 
current which is so seddom seen by the 
cflsual observer, although it may agitate 
the very floods beneath, cannot well be 
disregarded by those who wish to look be- 
neath the surface of the historical stream, 
however laden it may be with rich collec- 


/ 


122 


ONSLOW, 


tions which have and still present their 
treasures for the diligent and faithful his- 
torian, The more humble task prescribed 
to him who gleans his facts, and draws 
^them, one by one, from the shadowy re- 
gions of tradition, although full of difficul- 
ties, is not less profitable than the employ- 
ment of him who digs for the hidden ore, 
or dives beneath the waves in search of 
pearls — when polished and combined they 
add wealth and beauty — so with the faith- 
ful delineator of the transactions of private 
individuals, or isolated facts. But to pro- 
ceed with the design already indicated. 

Julian, utterly disappointed in the pur- 
suit of that phantom which beckoned him 
on with so much ardor and hope, in the 
cherished expectation of reaching the long 
looked for goal, where the mystery of his 
birth was to be cleared up, and he could 
enter on the busy world with new connec- 
tions and ambition — outraged in person 
and feelings — now determined to visit Mr. 
Milligan. The mind, under deep disap- 
pointment and care, naturally looks to 
some source for scdace and advice. The 
reader will recollect, no doubt, the kind in- 
vitation which that good gentleman ex- 
tended to Julian at the celebration at the 
flat rock, and the kind intimation from 
Miss Grayson, which he conveyed at the 
same time, that she desired to see him. 
The reader will also recollect the arrange- 
ments made with Edward^lonway and Ju- 
lian to accept that invitation. The scenes 
through which he subsequently passed — 
his perils and disappointments — the fierce 
anger of his enemies, and the distrust of 
some of his Whig friends, were well cal- 
culated to depress, almost to despair, a less 
elastic and buoyant spirit. But Julian was 
accustomed to the waywardness of fate, 
and with an unsullied character, and a 
pure and patriotic heart, pursued his jour- 
ney from Major Walden’s towards Mr. 
Milligan’s — the child of circumstances, he 
cast himself once more upon the billows 
of fortune. 

About evening, on the 9th of July, after 
a sultry and exhausting day, Julian reached 
the residence of Mr. Milligan ; with some 
slight exceptions, the arrangement and 
buildings corresponded with those of Mrs. 
Grayson’s, having been copied from the 
model which they furnished. It is always 
a moment of trial to approach the spot 
where a dubious reception may be expect- 
ed, but Julian summoned up his accus- 
tomed resolution, as he perceived the 
figures of several persons in the portico, 
all directing their attention towards him ; 


his heart beat, and its very sound tingled 
in his ears. The first of the group that 
he recognized was Edward Conway, who 
started to meet him as he approached the 
gateway, which stood about twenty yards 
in front of the house. 

“ I am glad to see you,” exclaimed Ed- 
ward, advancing warmly to greet him. 
“ You perceive how I have kept my pro- 
mise I” 

“ I have kept mine,” replied Julian, as 
he grasped the extended hand of his friend. 

“ Oh, it is Julian !” exclaimed one of 
the three ladies in the portico. “ I know 
his voice — I will go with you,” she said, 
seizing the arm of Mr. Milligan, as he ad- 
vanced down the front steps to receive his 
new visitor. 

A word, a look, a sound, the very shape 
of the person, will light up the slumbering 
embers of the memory. Julian heard indis- 
tinctly the voice, he trembled from head to 
foot. It was St. Ille, who rushed forwards 
to meet him, almost fainting on the arm of 
Mr. Milligan, who, fortunately, expecting 
that her feelings would undergo a great 
shock, retained his hold until the saluta- 
tions should be over. 

“ Oh, Julian, 1 am so happy to find that 
you are well. Why have you so long de- 
layed paying us a visit!” 

Julian still grasped her hand ; his eyes 
rested on hers ; he saw the workings of 
her feelings; he cursed in his heart the 
laws of cold formality ; he panted to fold 
her to his bosom, and to ask ten thousand 
pardons for his seeming indifference ; his 
words choked in his throat ; their peculiar 
standing to each other, the presence of 
strangers, all conspired to show him as a 
cold and selfish formalist. How variant ! 
how far removed were his actions from the 
tumultuous throes within. Whilst St. Ille 
in a moment threw off her embarrassment 
by words and vivacious inquiries after his 
health, Julian but illy concealed his agita- 
tion under the more repulsive and chilling 
exterior of affected calmness and self-posses- 
sion. Alas ! they who assume them must 
pay the penalty in secret, in lingering re- 
morse and self-condemnation. 

“I hope I find you well, Miss Grayson?” 
said Julian, as the now blushing girl re- 
linquished his hand, 

“Very well — yes, sir, quite well.” 

Julian beheld the starting tear as she 
hastily left him and the two gentlemen. 

Edward Conway, for a moment, looked 
with some degree of distrust at the warm 
reception which St. Ille had given his 
friend. Even the observations on his pic- 


A TALE OP THE SOUTH. 


123 


ture, as reported by Gabbleton, rushed to 
his recollection — a momentary flash of cha- 
grin flushed his cheek, but her sudden dis- 
appearance instantly dispelled it. Mrs. 
Grayson, when introduced to Julian, met 
him with that frank and open manner so 
well practiced by ladies of that day, and 
which adds so much to the disembarrassing 
effects of a first introduction. The other 
three ladies were the two daughters of Mr. 
Milligan and his lady, to whom Julian was 
introduced by Edward Conway. 

St. Ille had, in her short interview with 
Julian, exhausted all her stock of assumed 
equanimity, and the reception she met 
with, although respectful and unexception- 
able, did not render her liappy ; that homage 
which the generous gush of her own feel- 
ings demanded had not been returned — 
hence she sought her room to weep, to ac- 
cuse herself of frowardness, and then, in a 
moment, to think of each look and each ex- 
pression, to contrast the present with the 
past ; the rainbow and the tempest occa- 
sionally seemed to present tliemselves over 
the sky of the future. Innocent and beau- 
tiful creature ! ’tis better to weep over 
imaginary phantoms, temporarily floating 
in the mind, than to shed bitter tears of 
anguish, which flow from an accusing con- 
science, or irreparable misfortunes! 

But to return to the portico. 

Julian gazed on the stern features of an 
elderly man, who had sat undisturbed, 
reading some manuscripts, and who sud- 
denly thrusting away his papers into a 
pair of saddle bags, rose hastily, and walk- 
ing up to Julian, said in a clear, distinct 
voice — 

“ Sir, my name is GeofiVey Jarvis, miner- 
alogist — do I know you or not 1” 

“I am unable to say, sir — my name is 
Julian Onslow'.” 

, “ Aye 1” replied the mineralogist, with 
his eagle eyes dancing, and his hitherto 
stern and fixed features assuming a variety 
of emotions, “ civilities are well enough in 
their place, mere weather-vanes, though 
more false. 

‘ Man may smile, and smile and be a villain.’ 

But neither of us have any time to throw 
away in the acquirements of such fashion- 
able pantomimics ; let hypocrites and cour- 
tiers, and the ambitious, ply their arts ; 
they tln^ve, and get W'orldly gear, and die, 
the deceived of the deceivers. I have been 
busy reviewing some important and valua- 
ble papers ; when I have leisure I mean to 
favor you w'itli my grand scheme, for the 
purpose of procuring and developing the 


hidden treasures, which a beautiful provi- 
dence has incorporated into the bowels of 
the earth. Aha !” exclaimed the miner- 
alogist, watching the eyes of Julian, 
“ Strange sounds or familiar ones 1 Come 
they upon the ear, like the war trumpet, 
or like soft music o’er balmy slumbers'? 
Fall they like the half forgotten words of 
the morning of life, when the first throb of 
ambition almost pained the heart? Yes! 
I w'as right. ‘ In the morning sow thy 
seed, and in the evening withhold not 
thine hand ; for thou knowest not whether 
shall prosper either this or that, or whe- 
ther they shall both be alike good.’ But 
enough for the present.” 

The mineralogist abruptly broke off his 
discourse, and taking up his hat, left the 
company, seeking solitude, where he could 
unobserved give full rein to his now ex- 
cited imagination. 

“ A singular being,” said Edward Con- 
way, “ a walking transcript of pithy texts 
of Scripture, and choice selections from the 
English classics.” 

“ And,” replied Amelia, as she and the 
other ladies left the portico,' “ he carries 
us back to the days of the alchymists.” 

Julian w^as almost unconscious of the 
presence of Edward. A deep and absorb- 
ing abstraction came over his mind ; a few 
fleeting moments served to summon up to 
liis recollection long forgotten emotions ; 
his acquaintance with St. Ille, their long 
separation — the mineralogist, the same 
mysterious being who had so often urged 
him on to deeds of noble intent, was now 
near to counsel, and perhaps to unravel the 
hitherto inexplicable interest he had taken 
in his fate. His feelings gradually became 
placid and calm ; he felt the bland influ- 
ence of the hour of twilight ; the full moon 
was just rising, as the sun disappeared in 
the far west ; the fading glory of one was 
reflected in the mellow and borrowed light 
of the other ; the thick quiet clouds piled 
on each other skirted the southern hori- 
zon, crimsoned and burnished with the 
flaming rays of the sun, changing their co- 
lors and their shapes, like the gorgeous 
palaces of an enchanted land, whilst the 
side next the moon seemed like the undu- 
lating brow of a towering mountain, cano- 
pied over with fleecy snow, and the dark 
shadows of its own native pines; the flick- 
ering flash of lightning, which ever and 
anon leaped from different portions of this 
aerial structure, might be compared to the 
bright and shifting lights of tlie one, or the 
unfettered rills of the other, seeking by 
precipitous falls the quiet valleys beneath. 


124 


ONSLOW. 


“ Who that looks,” thought Julian, “ upon 
the bright and glorious sun as he sinks in 
the crimson mists of the West, and looks 
at the pale quiet light of the rising moon, 
but draws a melancholy picture in the his- 
tory of the world 1 A ruler, full of might 
and power, sinks to rest, and a lustreless 
one, scarcely a faint reflection of the one 
he succeeds, imbecile and weak, attempts 
to follow in his burning course ; he wanes 
until he sinks in darkness, and leaves none 
.to regret his disappearance — or, to shift 
the parallel, a bold and daring intellect, 
full of power, runs his fierce and bloody 
course without a rival ; all shun his burn- 
ing track ; he disappears, and is succeeded 
by one who is benignity itself; he calls 
around him the stars and beauties of his 
realm ; all is harmony and pleasure.” 

Julian was interrupted in these reflec- 
tions by Edward, who had noticed his mus- 
ing air. 

“ You seem to have found a fair and in- 
teresting acquaintance. I hope it may be 
an additional reason to induce you to spend 
much of your time with us.” 

“ I have no right,” replied Julian, “ to 
take advantage of that circumstance, how- 
ever highly I may appreciate the honor to 
be classed among the friends of Miss Gray- 
son. I have some wish to join the army 
farther North, more in the gaudia certa- 
minis^ the glory and conflict of arms.” 

Edward urged the anxiety he felt for the 
co-operation of Julian in their local strug- 
gles, and predicted that the field for daring 
adventure and military skill was abundant, 
and the time not distant when the most 
valorous would find full employment for all 
the, resources which he might possess. 

Julian briefly recounted his late unplea- 
sant interview with Major Walden; his 
dislike of the mineralogist, and the belief 
he expressed of a secret league for the in- 
jury of himself and his nephew. He even 
hinted that he had gone there for the pur- 
pose of attempting to trace up his pa- 
rentage. 

“This is strange,” replied Edward, “ for 
I heard the mineralogist darkly hint at 
some hidden mystery to my uncle; and 
Major Notwood told me that you would 
supplant some one yet. I suppose he 
jocosely alluded to some probable love 
affair; he further added that, sooner or 
later, some of those full of high hopes of 
future wealth, would be left pennyless. 
All I have to say,” continued Edward, tak- 
ing hold of the hand of Julian, “ js, that I 
care not how soon the mystery is dispelled, 
and I, for one, shall rejoice if the conjec- 


tures and hints should prove true and bene- 
ficial to you.” 

Julian pressed the friendly hand of his 
generous and disinterested companion ; the 
tears of gratitude imbued his glowing 
cheeks; he faintly declared that he felt 
honored in the wish, and his future life 
should prove how earnestly and cordially 
he reciprocated his kind and delicate ex- 
pressions of friendship. 

Mr. Milligan and the mineralogist re- 
turned to the house, and the gentlemen 
were invited to supper. Julian soon per- 
ceived that he was the observed of all ob- 
servers ; three or four volunteered to intro- 
duce him to Mrs. Milligan. 

The mineralogist was invited to say 
grace. After commencing and proceeding 
in the ordinary manner, he suddenly raised 
his voice, and emphatically continued: 
“Grant, likewise, that w’e may, each and 
every one, become the willing partakers of 
thy bounties and grace ; and furthermore, 
that thy judgments which are suspended 
over a particular family, may be averted 
and turned away, if so be that they shall 
hearken kindly to the admonitions of thy 
unworthy servant, Geoffrey Jarvis, mine- 
ralogist. Amen ! and Amen !” 

The whole company were taken by sur- 
prise ; some believed it as a threat to the 
family of Mr. Milligan. Edward, it was 
true, was at some loss to determine wheth- 
er the knave or the fool predominated ; 
whilst Julian felt an indescribable awe, al- 
though he regretted that one for whom he 
entertained so much respect could unne- 
cessarily say any thing to disturb the feel- 
ings of those present; but the gay and frank 
air of the mineralogist, as he noticed the 
two younger children of Mr. Milligan, who 
sought with ready instinct the most ac- 
commodating around the table, and re- 
ceived with gleeful faces the officious of- 
fers of sweetmeats, completely restored the 
company to their usual dispositions, to ren- 
der each other agreeable, and to overlook, 
as a mere vice of education, this singular 
and unusual course of their strange guest. 

Julian caught the full, liquid eye of St. 
Tile ; some would compare it to the dark 
and lustrous berry of the poisonous vine, 
which flings its beautiful foliage around the 
boughs and trunk of the forest oak. Those 
who behold such an eye, can never forget 
its language ; had the coiled adder flung its 
full length unexpectedly upon him, he 
could not have experienced a more thrill- 
ing feeling, than that which then curdled 
his heart’s blood. It seemed to demand, 

“ Hast thou become cold and callous 1 has 


A TALE OP THE SOUTH. 


125 


the remembrance of the past been obliter- 
ated so easily, by a few short months 
She saw his confusion. It was well that 
the dim lights and the busy scene prevent- 
ed those around her from noticing the deep 
crimson tinge, which suffused her whole 
countenance. There is light enough by 
the aid of a good eye, and a faithful imagi- 
nation, to give an outline of St. Ille. She 
was a little taller than those of ordinary 
height ; her hair was dark and sufficiently 
abundant, her eyes were full and quick, 
her complexion was clear and full of bloom ; 
her features were harmonious, not long nor 
round, her form was elastic and almost 
slender ; she might have been taken for 
tlie sister of the two young friends; the eyes 
alone, and tlie eyebrows, perhaps the 
mouth differed. The two young men had 
been exposed to the air and sun ; great de- 
cision was marked on 'their features; Ju- 
lian was some taller and apparently more 
grave ; and there was Amelia Milligan by 
5ie side of St. Ille, sweet child of nature ! 
The blue sky in its serenest moments may 
have lent its pure blue, and its quiet light 
to her eyes, and her lambent blushes. She 
was small, quite small and delicate; and 
as sensitive as the frail mimosa ; her voice 
in ordinary conversation was as soft as the 
silver tones of the melancholy lute; she 
seemed too tender and perfect for the chill 
and harsh winds of heaven. She was of 
the same age of St. Ille, and had always 
been her bosom companion from their ear- 
liest days of childhood. Mildred Milligan, 
too, was seated next to her sister ; she had 
more size ; a full blue eye, light yellow 
hair, not so brown as Amelia’s, and their 
two hands were so alike they might be 
compared to the finest specimen of Parian 
marble ; she was just fourteen, beautiful 
and intelligent. At the foot of the table, 
sat their father ; of a fair complexion, his 
cheeks slightly furrowed, and deep and 
lasting lines of thought marked his high 
and intellectual brow ; his eyebrows when 
at rest were heavy, his eyes were of a pale 
blue — he seemed to be of the sanguineous 
temperament; ardent and benevolent; he 
was of the middle stature. He had attach- 
ed himself to the Wesleyan Methodists, 
although the new sect had not organized ; 
nor was it possible for him to carry out the 
full church discipline ; his dress merged 
towards the fashion which many of them 
so constantly observed. Mr. Milligan was 
about forty-five or perhaps fifty ; his lady, 
not much younger, was round and full- 
faced ; had fight flaxen hair, and blue eyes ; 
her complexion, once clear^and fair, has. 


through the wear and tear of life, and con- 
stant exposure to the air, lost something 
of its original freshness, although she still 
retains beauty enough to be called a lady 
of fine appearance ; she was silent and 
quiet, ordinarily; but she had great energy 
and promptness of action; she was well 
calculated to bear up the less unyielding 
disposition of her husband. At the hour of 
midnight, when the wearied and exhausted 
seek repose, and, overcome, leave even 
their dearest friends to the kindness of 
others, ’twas then, that the unwearied and 
untiring exertions of Mrs. Milligan, were 
found adding comfort and consolation. She 
was truly an uncommon woman, showing 
her energy at the very moment when that 
of others seemed to flag, or require aid. 
But let us not forget the social circle. Ju- 
lian was at a considerable loss how to de- 
mean himself ; his conversation was irregu- 
lar and desultory ; a few words to St. Ille on 
the different appearances perceptible be- 
tween the country and city. But his main 
discourse was with Mrs. Grayson, who in- 
terposed her kind offices to relieve him of 
his embarrassment. 

Edward Conway seemed unusually gay, 
the vivid flashes of wit, the sprightly and 
delicate repartees between himself and 
Amelia, were not unlike the first bold 
flights of young eaglets. Mr. and Mrs. 
Milligan noticed, almost in mute astonish- 
ment, this first familiar interchange of 
friendly conversation ; apprehending that 
some word might escape from Amelia, too 
piquant or ill timed ; but she bore herself 
through the conversation with evident sa- 
tisfaction to herself and to Mr. Conway. 
Blithe morning of youth, sparkling with 
hope and anticipated joys, the evils are all 
unseen and unfelt which always arise ! 
alas ! too soon ! their hearts were like two 
gushing founts ere they have mingled with 
the bitter waters below. 

How different was the situation of Julian 
and St. Ille ; they had known each other ; 
had loved; but a stern and unconquerable 
barrier was between them ; they are now 
face to face, with the bitter recollections 
of the past ; but as sorrow and experience 
are the parents of true wisdom; so adver- 
sity to lovers is the best cement of affec- 
tion. 

After tea, Edward Conway proposed to 
the young ladies and Julian to take a stroll 
in the beautiful moonlight; Mr. Milligan 
made somewhat of an excuse for Julian, 
intimating a fear that the fatigues of the 
day would be repaired more readily by rest. 
But Julian promptly thanked him, and gave 


126 


ONSLOW, 


his assent to the proposition of Edward, 
smilingly saying, “ that he felt but little 
fatigued, and that change of scenery and of 
company, often, as in the present instance, 
produced a corresponding influence in re- 
storing the exhausted energies of the mind 
and body.” 

Mildred Milligan is left to warble her 
fine voice for the especial pleasure of the 
old people ; whilst, strange to say, Julian 
has the arm of the little sylph, and Edward 
is by the side of St. Ille. So goes the 
world, and so it will continue to go ; the 
course of true love never did run smooth. 
Julian of course did not wish to be forward ; 
St. Ille had no disposition to seem anxious 
to seize his arm. And Amelia was deter- 
mined to show the company, that in a 
spirit of hospitality she would pay proper 
respect to her father’s guest, and Edward 
too had come up, pretty much to fulfill his 
uncle’s earnest request, that he should pay 
a visit to Miss Grayson. The moonbeams 
slept, danced, or undulated, as best suited 
the fancy of those who chose to look at 
them ; the whip-po-wil threw in his do- 
lorous note ; whilst the tinkling of bells 
might be heard, as the restless wearers 
unconsciously cropped the grass. But our 
friends scarcely noticed any thing extrane- 
ous to themselves. These things belong 
to the lonely ; to him, or her, whose feel- 
ings love solitude, and who seek a solace 
in the mighty works of their Creator. The 
glorious moon, that sheds its benign light 
on sea and land ; that cheers the wanderer 
in his course, and the lone prisoner in his 
cell ; it waxes and wanes and renews its 
lights a thousand times, but life and love 
once extinct, wdiere is the fountain of their 
renewal 1 The silver tones of Amelia’s 
voice, how like the scene ; the fairy form 
so like the creations of the poet’s fancy ; 
Julian joined in the playful conversation; 
though care and misfortunes w'ere gnaw- 
ing at his heart. 

“ This is your first visit to the South ; 
how are you pleased with the sunny South!” 
asked Amelia. 

“If I were to judge of the future, by 
the few^ hours I have spent at your happy 
residence, I should expect to become too 
much enamored with the country, ever to 
exchange it for any other. But the past 
admonishes me, that disasters and misfor- 
tunes are intimately interwoven in the des- 
tiny of too many of us. My inclination 
leads me tow’ards the active scenes of the 
North for my few friends here, who have 
shown so much kindness towards me, I 
shall ever cherish a lasting gratitude ; but 


I have no right to tax them with my per- 
son or my grievances.” 

“The times are getting quiet; we live 
here remote from the stirring scenes of mi- 
litary array, and certainly we have Whig 
friends enough to prevent the inroads of 
local parties unfriendly to the Whig cause ; 
and you know,” added Amelia, somewhat 
archly, looking up to the attentive listener, 
“ that there is one person who once had 
some claims upon you, and I do not know 
what to say, unless I add, and affections 
too.” 

“I can tell you what you might have 
added,” said Julian, “but who now has 
none whatever.” 

“ Why Mr. Onslow, you cannot he in 
earnest ! lam not jesting with you, I did 
not expect this from Julian Onslow ; you 
know too well the path of duty which lay 
before St. Ille, not to have justified her 
conduct; although it might have been 
greatly at variance with your wishes and 
your feelings.” 

“ The past,” replied Julian, “is gone — 
the future is disconnected with its inci- 
dents; but this I will say to you, with the 
same frankness you have observed towards 
me ; I had no agency in consummating the 
present relations between us ! You speak, 
no doubt, knowingly, and perhaps by au- 
thority ; no course on my part can change 
it. My friend Edward will unite the two 
great families together; and I will here- 
after offer up my best wishes for their 
earthly happiness.” 

“ How very strangely you talk !” replied 
Amelia ; “lam sure that you do not ex- 
pect St. Ille to renew the suit! but I mean 
to give you an opportunity to make an ex- 
planation. You have no idea with what 
ease it can be made ; a solitary accusation 
kindly said, will answer often for an apolo- 
gy. And as to your fears of Mr. Conway, 
I mean to kill him off*, he ’s a ruined youth; 
his slumbers shall be disturbed, I mean to 
send Queen Mab to cobweb his senses ; I 
tell you plainly, he is my victim ; do you 
suppose that he is ungallant ; that he will 
resist my charms! My plans are matured 
and your young friend, when he falls a vic- 
tim, will of course be out of your way. I 
want no help, no assistance ; I mean to 
have all the credit of the conquest ; so, if 
you please, oblige me so far as to allow me 
to begin the siege at once. St Ille ! what ’ 
deaf, St. Ille ! Listen to me, Mr. Conway ’ 
I have a plan to propose.” 

“ Of course, Amelia,” answered her fair 
friend, who, with Edward, was a few paces 
ahead, walking in a gently sloping lawn, 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


127 


tow/lrds a cluster of sweet gums and water 
oaks, which overshadowed llie beautiful 
bold spring, which bubbled up through the 
white sands of its fount. 

“ You say ‘ of course,’ that is, you care 
but little any way ; why so much equani- 
mity 'I so much serenity ] so much assum- 
ed indifference 1” 

‘‘ I agree for both,” replied Edward, not 
waiting for the hesitating answer of his 
companion, “ in earnest, positively and 
with cheerfulness.” 

“ Now mind what you agree to, Mr. Con- 
way,” said Amelia, almost alarmed at her 
own proposition, “ you will some day per- 
haps, rue the bargain.” 

“ Never, if you have the arrangement of 
it,” replied Edward. 

“ Well, the conditions are as follows : — 
1st. Mr. Onslow is now a prisoner, and I 
wish to exchange him for his equal ; and 
on such terms as will ensure him, a proper 
reception. 

“ 2dly. Mr. Edward Conway, being 
held in durance by a cruel and despotic 
enemy, must be exchanged for the said 
Julian Onslow ; how like you the condi- 
tions 1 are they not equal, proper and justl 
Come, St. Ille, come ! do n ’t hesitate ! Mr. 
Conway confirmed the bargain, and I am 
ready to carry its provisions into immedi- 
ate execution.” 

“ How !” asked Edward, .“am I to pro- 
ceed, must I surrender my charge to you, 
Julian V’ 

“ What a poor military tactician,” repli- 
ed Amelia, “ don’t you understand that St. 
Ille surrenders you into my possession, and 
I Mr. Onslow into hers.” 

“ What becomes of the rights of the ex- 
changed!” asked Julian. 

“ They will be duly respected,” replied 
St. Ille, as she tremblingly took hold of 
Julian’s arm, almost vexed at the manner 
with Amelia, for the shallow device she 
had arranged, and yet she felt that she 
would not have it otherwise ; as for Amelia 
and Edward, they can both pass off their 
gay moments, untinged by the varying 
hues which love weaves in the recollec- 
tions of the past ; but how long they are to 
be thus gay, thus free, must be left for 
the future to determine. But, kind reader, 
can you imagine a more embarrassing situ- 
ation than the renewal of a broken-off love 
affair ! We have one now on hand, and 
how is it to be managed — how it puzzles 
the lover to bring himself again to the 
high point of putting the question — the 
condescension to ask, or to give an expla- 
nation — those cold words, “ although I 


once had some thoughts on the subject, yet 
to be candid, sir, I cannot fancy you,” — 
how few get the recusant to say that they 
entertain the same affection. It is easier 
to pop half a dozen new questions, than to 
lead on the second attack, against a well 
fortified and organized heart — but thanks 
to the lucky stars, like Benedict, many can 
say ‘ I am Benedict the married man.’ ” 

Julian and St. Ille had seated themselves 
on one of the seats near the spring, whilst 
Amelia was wandering along the pebbly 
rill, entertaining Edward with her spark- 
ling wit and sweet voice. 

“ You seem to have undergone no change 
in your health,” said St. Ille to Julian, 
“ although I feared that you suffered from 
the vile prison ship in which you were 
placed ; and I am tempted to give you a 
real scold for not asking permission from 
the commander to allow me to have seen 
you; you did not even send any answer 
back to my inquiries after your health.” 

“A prisoner,” replied Julian, “has but 
little opportunity of receiving visits, or of 
returning answers ; but from you I never 
received any word whatever. But I now 
return all I have to offer, my unfeigned 
thanks and gratitude for any solicitude you 
may have felt or expressed.” 

“Ah! Julian,” said St. Ille, bursting 
into tears, “ you have strangely changed.” 

“ I have only obeyed your solemnly ex- 
pressed injunctions, if you allude to my 
demeanor, and you know that I have no 
explanations to give.” 

“ Perhaps,” replied St. Ille, “ and none 
to receive.” The pensive air of St. Ille — 
the sweet mild voice, for a moment over- 
powered Julian — he was silent — they both 
were silent. 

“ What must I say!” at length continued 
Julian. “ If I tell you that I have loved 
you passionately and uninterruptedly, that 
you already know. If I say that I believed 
it was returned, it would only bring up the 
past with all its sad recollections. You 
know in what manner I was suddenly and 
unexpectedly discarded, without any ex- 
planation or ostensible cause, except that I 
was unknown to your parents ; and let me 
tell you that the same reason now exists, 
for I am unknown to myself.” 

“ I dare not trust myself,” sighed St. 
Ille, summoning up her strength and cou- 
rage, “ to attempt an explanation, which I 
thought at that time, I still think, and un- 
der like afflicting circumstance.s, would re- 
enact the same unpleasant duty to myself.” 

“ Then,” replied Julian, “ time has 
kindly obliterated some of the poignancy 


128 


ONSLOW, 


of those unpleasant hours, and I am to in- 
fer tliat the case in all other respects re- 
mains the same.” 

“Not so, Julian! not so,” replied St. 
Ille, touching his hand with her delicate 
fingers, which vied with the silver beam 
which gleamed through the green foliage 
above their heads, and fell over them, “ the 
time will come when you will justify my 
course.” 

Julian’s temperament was a peculiar 
one, a compound of benevolence and pride ; 
he was burning with the most intense pas- 
sion — devoted alone to her — yet he was 
restrained, respectful and civil — his heart 
was almost bursting, his whole feelings 
W'ere wrought up to the violence of the 
hurricane — he felt nor cared fur no mid- 
dle ground — he dared not propose a re- 
newal of his former suit. He had too high 
and elevated regard for St. Ille, and for 
himself, or else he might have fallen at 
her feet and declared his unalterable affec- 
tion and devotion. But if he hesitated — he 
became more and more confirmed in his 
course, from -the fact that some mystery 
still hung over his parentage. 

“ The bower and the moonbeam, and 
lovers’ [sighs and quarrels, may suit those 
who are safe,” said the mineralogist, who 
unceremoniously addressed them ere they 
were aware of his presence ; “ but he who 
is a wanderer, in a strange land, unknown 
even to himself, must change the bower 
for the thicket, and the moonlight for the 
darkness of the swamp or the cave ; and 
the gentle words of love, for the groans of 
the dy ing ! Fair maiden, hearken to me ; 
the mild air hath the pestilence in it — the 
gentle and sweet words of man have trea- 
chery in them. But the time may come 
when Julian' Villoc may become thy pro- 
tector — may call thee wife ; but not now ! 
No ! sooner shall yonder sweetly whisper- 
ing rill run upwards. He dare not lead 
thee to the altar, until he has fulfilled his 
destiny. Send thy young friends to join 
your father in his nightly prayers ; whilst 
I hold converse in private to thee and 
thy once affianced, but now discarded 
lover.” 

St. Ille instantly obeyed the injunction 
so pointedly directed to her; and telling 
Amelia and Edward the strange request, 
immediately returned to her former posi- 
tion ; whilst the others returned, renewing 
their conversation on their way back to the 
house ; leaving the mineralogist to carry 
out his own peculiar views with their two 
friends. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

Nor need I write — to tell the tale, 

My pen were doubly weak : 

Oh ! what can idle words avail 
Unless the heart could speak. 

By day or night — in weal or wo, 

That heart no longer free, 

Must bear the love it cannot show. 

And silent ache for thee. 

Byron. 

“ Child of wayward fate,” said the mi- 
neralogist, “ confusion reigned amongst the 
stars at thy birth.” 

St. Ille made no reply to this strange 
salutation, nor did Julian attempt to inter- 
rupt him. 

“ But the stars,” continued the minera- 
logist, “ are now propitious, and unless my 
calculations are fallacious, the time is not 
distant when I shall accomplish my great 
designs, and v;hen the long hidden transac- 
tions of certain individuals shall be made 
known.” 

A cold shudder seemed to rush over the 
stout frame of the mineralogist ; and large 
drops of sweat trickled down his hard and 
rugged features. “ Yes,” he muttered, 
“ Noah and his household were saved from 
the Deluge — it comes no more. Nineveh 
was doomed, yet spared ! I have been 
threatened, yet spared for some great and 
useful purpose. I have but followed out 
the decrees of Providence; all will yet be 
well.” 

The young lovers almost caught the ex- 
traordinary feelings of the mineralogist; 
he stood with his white locks in the full 
moonlight, and they could distinctly see 
the workings of his agitated features ; at 
length he became more composed, and ad- 
dressed them as follows. 

“ Julian Onslow and St. Ille Grayson, I 
knew both of you in Philadelphia. I have 
seen you at the Theatre; at the scenes 
where the dreamy workings of the imagi- 
nation serve to kill precious time ; in the 
church, where the idle gazer sees nothing 
serious nor solemn ! By the moonlight ; 
and I have seen you where you thought no 
eye beheld you. You have been the chil- 
dren of destiny ; dark and malignant hearts 
are now at work against you — your fates 
will be similar — the planets point out too 
plainly this to my anxious investigations. 
I have two requests to make; one is to 
this fair maiden, the other is to thee, thou 
wanderer on sea and land, in search of that 
which will forever elude your grasp, until 
the proper time arrives. Swear to obey 
me, and I can read your destiny — disobey. 


A TALE OP THE SOUTH. 


129 


and I leave you in the same fruitless 
chase, after an ever flying delusion ; which 
will leave you in the same agitating con- 
jectures, which have hitherto proved a 
source of bitter agony.” 

“ 1st. Thou, St. Ille Grayson, will never 
consent to marry Edward Conway ; and, se- 
condly, never to marry Julian Villoc, alias 
Onslow, until he presents to thee a claim 
to respectable family and character 1” 

The astonished girl hesitated. “ These 
are questions "or conditions, she at length 
replied, “ which you have no right to 
speak of; much less to attempt to make 
exactions of me. They concern you not, 
and whether rightly or wrongly imagined 
on your part, I cannot perceive the justice 
of your requisitions.” 

“ Well, be it as you say,” replied the 
mineralogist. “ But ere you decide, I will 
read you a fragment of a love tale, which 
perchance will let you both see the fatal 
effects of pride and precipitancy ; will you 
both hear me patiently — one whose age, 
though considerable, hath not yet driven 
his eyes and nose to be yoked and over- 
loaded with the vain fashion and costly 
gear of the more light and dissipated of the 
age ?” 

“ Miss Grayson,” said Julian, “ will I 
hope consult her own wishes to remain or 
retire ; I am ready to see her in safety to 
the house, whenever it is her purpose to 
break off* this conversation.” 

“ See her in safely!” repeated the mine- 
ralogist ; “ and who would dare to harm St. 
Ille 1 Her own pure heart and sound discre- 
tion — her own high sense of right and 
wrong, are better than swords and pistols. 
Thou speakest but the idle babble of the 
times ; her own spotless heart is the shield 
and the buckler, and not thy arm or thy 
vauntings.” 

“ I will remain,” replied St. Ille, “ if it 
comports with your wishes, Julian, and I 
have some little curiosity not only on my 
account but yours, to hear the fragment 
of which the good gentleman speaks.” 

The mineralogist then drew forth from 
his huge pocket a roll of pj|,per, and care- 
fully unwrapping it, took his position in 
the clear moonlight, turning his back to- 
wards the moon, read or affected to read as 
follows : 

“ A fragment from the travels of Geof- 
frey Jarvis, mineralogist. There was born 
of noble parents a sori^ in the year of our 
Lord one thousand seven hundred and . . . . 
in the county of . ... in the State of Vir- 
ginia. The mother was well educated, and 
of (as has already been noted) a good fami- 


ly ; but she was tainted with that worst of 
modern sins, poverty — Mammon hath a 
hard heart, and Moloch hath secret worship- 
pers, in their hearts at least, in our day. 
Suffice it to say, that there is an eye placed 
over this child, which watches it until 
childhood verges on manhood — he becomes 
an apt scholar — a leader amongst the peo- 
ple. In a far-off* city he meets with a fair 
daughter of the South — they see each 
other — they love — they become affianced 
— and thus writes this fair maiden to her 
distant friend, a young and beautiful daugh- 
ter of the South. 

“ City of Philadelphia^ Sept. 30, 17 — . • 
“ My Dearest : 

“ I arrived here safely from Charleston, 
on the 17th of last month. I had a plea- 
sant voyage — the bright waves danced 
around us, and the sea-bird rested its 
weary wings upon our sails. There was 
nothing to mar the pleasure of the voyage 
but the absence of those I loved — except 
the vile sea-sickness. It is, I assure you, 
altogether very provoking ! 

“ I must give you a dish of politics. 
How well ! you will exclaim, they suit our 
sex 1 The Congress has consulted its safety 
by a second flight. No one knows where 
they will retire — some say to Lancaster, 
or some place of safety. It is believed by 
many that Sir William Howe has put an 
end to the war — he made his triumphant 
entry about a week ago. Great rejoicings 
have taken place. I have been already to 
some of the private parties — politics and 
parade — new fashions and new acquaint- 
ances seem to be the spirit of the times. 

I am utterly astonished at the brilliancy 
and splendor occasionally displayed ; how 
and whence they gather their supplies is 
incomprehensible to one who is so little ac- 
quainted with the resources of this mighty 
city. 

“ I am told the British are happy and 
seem overjoyed at their hospitable re- 
ception. But the sycophancy of the times, 
the hypocrisy of human nature, can garnish 
over feelings of disgust and hatred. I have 
formed the acquaintance of Mrs. Villoc ; 
she is a charming lady ; she is so like your 
mother, that I felt almost translated back 
to your hospitable fireside; I spend some 
delightful evenings at her house ; she has 
a very intelligent son — he is sprightly and 
fascinating — a fine scholar, and is indebted 
to nature for a fine person. He is, I assure 
you, very handsome; he is quite young, 
about three years older than you. I think 
you would fall in love with him. I sigh 


130 


ONSLOW, 


for your company. Do tell my parents that 
I wish to see them. Give my love to all 
of our friends, and believe me yours until 
death. 

“ P. S. I have just seen Mr. ; he 

called with some ladies to see me. I think 
one of them is in love with him. He is so 
sprightly and yet self-possessed. He said 
that the taking of Philadelphia is a mere 
trifle — that the city had taken the British 
instead of being taken by them. I fear he 
will be made a prisoner, he is such a bold 
and open Whig. But I have no notion of 
falling in love; for you know that my 
sweetheart is nearer home, and I must 
obey the will of my parents. What right 
have we to judge of love affairs'? Oh! 
these vile wars, I wish they were over. I 
am too young to think of marrying these 
four years, or even six. Write about every 
thing, and tell me how you think I ought 

to act towards Mr. ; but never mind ; 

write soon, very soon. Yours, until I see 
and embrace you. 

Letter Second. 

“ My Dear : 

“ It has been so long since I heard from 
you ! These civil commotions, what pangs 
and difflculties they produce ; how they 
destroy the natural impulses of the heart ! 

I have frequently seen Mr. ” 

“ Read out the name, sir,” said St. Ille, 
rising from her seat. “ The device is too 
shallow ; you have possessed yourself by 
some treachery of my letters to Miss Ame- 
lia Milligan, and now I prefer, as matters 
have gone so far, that Julian shall under- 
stand that he is the gentleman referred to, 
and that he hear the whole of what I 
wrote — I have nothing to conceal. Per- 
haps I have no other course left me. The 
letters now belong to me ; I left them in 
my room carefully locked up, and behold 
they are now exhibited with a show of os- 
tentation, as a fragment of a marvelous 
love story.” 

Julian turned suddenly to the mineralo- 
gist, saying “ Sir, you must and shall explain 
by what means you came in possession 
of the private property of Miss Grayson, 
and especially as you have added to the 
injury by reading them publicly to her 
face.” 

“ Ha ! ha ! strike your best friend I — put 
out the taper which now lights your bewil- 
dered feet through the snares and pits which 
are scattered before you! — No! no! Ju- 
lian!” continued the mineralogist, in a 
deep and solemn voice, “thou darest not 


strike the bare head of him who liath no 
fear of man in his composition; I have 
plucked this precious record from the blind 
zealots of fraud and persecution ; and have 
chosen to present them alone to those who 
have an interest in them; see how the 
plain truth puts you both in the wrong ; 
thus has it ever been with me ; when I 
intended the most good, the keenest rebukes 
have met me.” 

“Forgive me, kind friend,” said St. Ille, 
advancing to take hold of the hand of the 
mineralogist ; she looked in his face, the 
frank and open countenance was bedimmed 
with tears, “ forgive me,” she continued, 
“ and do with tliem as you think best.” 

“For God’s sake,” said Julian, “tell me 
did you allude to my early history ; let me 
beseech you, on my knees, to dispel the 
agonizing doubts which forever haunt my 
feelings and paralyze all my best exertions. 
Do they live ! I mean my parents?” 

“Hold!” exclaimed the mineralogist, 

“ you are on the brink of a volcano. You 
are pursued by all the furies ; by avarice ' 
and ambition; revenge, deadly and lasting, 
dogs thy heels ; and even I have been 
treacherously instigated to deliver thee up 
to thine enemies ! perchance they now lie 
in wait for thee; and you seek to deliver 
thyself up into their hands ; await patiently 
the decrees of Providence ; thinkest thou 
that I have not pondered well my course? 
have I studied the dark windings of the 
heart of man to no purpose ? have I sought 
out the hidden treasures of the earth by 
day and by night ? shall the mighty schemes 
which I have planned, all, all! be cast 
away to the winds to gratify thy curiosity ? 
No ! sooner will I suffer myself to hang as 
high as Haman, than divulge the mystery, 
or break my sacred vow ; never ! never !” 
continued the mineralogist, gazing intently 
towards the bright heavens, “sooner, oh 
God ! may thy mercies forsake me !” 

Agitated and seemingly exhausted by 
the deep excitement under which he la- 
bored, the mineralogist seated himself; 
whilst all became still and silent. After a 
long pause, St. Ille ventured to request 
him to read the remainder of the letters. 

“ Thou hast made a wise request,” re- 
plied the mineralogist, rising slowly 
and resuming his position in the moon- 
light; his auditors \yere all attention as 
he read as follows : “ I have frequently 
seen Julian Villoc ; he is not engaged, he 
has declared in a manly and frank manner 
his aflection for me ; what shall I do, my 
dearest Amelia? I never supposed I could 
love any one but Edward Conway ; what 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


131 


will you say when I tell you that they are 
very much alike ! my heart tells me that 
I cannot be happy without Julian ! Do you 
think my parents would object 1 He has 
been fighting against the king’s party ; 

I care not for politics, he is too noble to 
act wrong ! Oh, how sorry I am that my 
father is a royalist ; if he only could hear 
Julian speak of our wrongs as a nation — the 
injustice, cruelty and insolence of our in- 
vaders — he would be convinced ; and you 
would love him and wish yourself a soldier 
by his side. I give up all claims now and 
forever to Edward Conway to you, my dear 
Amelia; I know you will exactly suit. 
Congress has again returned to the city ; 
the royalists have retreated ; the rejoicings 
are now of an opposite nature. 

“ Great excitement prevails in this city, 
occasioned by the arrival of Mr. Gerard, 
minister from France. Julian now speaks 
confidently of the success of the Whig 
cause ; he has been offered a commission in 
the continental service ; I hope he will not 
accept one ; he may be sent to the South 
and be found opposed to my father ; I hope 
he will not leave the city. General Howe 
is gone to England and Sir H. Clinton has 
the full command. 

“ Julian speaks of leaving the city ; I go 
often to see his mother ; she is unwell, I 
fear she cannot live long ; for the sake of 
Julian I hope she will recover yet. I was 
at the Theatre last night, the play was Ro- 
meo and Juliet ; poor Juliet, I wept over her 
misfortunes : I have written by the same 
conveyance that bears this to my father ; 
if he is willing I will marry Julian, but alas ! 
the course of true love never did run 
smooth ; I have a presentiment of obstacles ; 
but I must not lose Julian ; there is but one 
Julian, he looks serious and abstracted ; I 
fear 1 am too cold, too distant ; perhaps he 
repents his declaration ; I must not forget 
to tell you that there was a cry of fire in 
the Theatre, and he caught me in his arms 
and rushed with me to the door. Oh ! 
Amelia, I am so happy, and yet so misera- 
ble. 

“ Yours, truly and affectionately, . 

“St. Ille.” 

Julian had taken hold of the hand of St. 
Ille ; they were both in tears ; the mineral- 
ogisl, without any comment, continued the 
third letter as follows: 

Letter Third. 

“My Dearest Amelia: 

“ Although I cannot hear from you, yet 
I must continue to write, it is the only 
pleasure I have unless I am in the company 


of Julian. Oh, let me tell you, one of the 
Royal commissioners, Col. J— called to 
see me, and spoke of Julian as one of the 
most talented men of the country ; he was 
in company with Mr. Villoc. And I have 
just had a visit from the beautiful Mrs. 
Armond ; she declared to me if ever she be- 
comes a widow, she means to be the death 
of Julian ; she is wild and playful like your- 
self. I am told that Julian is a leader 
amongst the Whigs ; that he is brave and 
gallant — but to return to the commissioner ; 
Col. J — made an arrangement to call on 
me in company with Mr. Villoc ; they went 
so far as to ask me to expostulate with Ju- 
lian, and induce him to comply with the 
propositions of the commissioners; they 
both finally declared that the South was 
exposed to the fury of contending factions ; 
and that if I valued the safety of my friends 
I would unhesitatingly admonish Julian to 
save them ; they went further, promising 
Julian a promotion if he would enter into 
an arrangement for the suppression of the 
rebellion. Julian was sent for, he made 
his appearance in his uniform. After the 
two gentlemen retired, at their suggestion 
I mentioned the proposition ; he turned pale 
and was greatly agitated ; ‘ I will be yours 
forever, my dear Julian, if you will save 
my parents and put a stop to the war ;’ he 
kissed me — I could but weep — ‘ I would 
lay down my life for you, my dearest St. Ille, 
although I am poor and now an orphan,’ 
— ah, Amelia, he told me his proper name, 
his unfortunate situation, and I but loved 
him the more ; I care not who are his pa- 
rents, I know they are noble, — ‘ your affec- 
tion,’ he said, ‘ is all that I live for, but I 
would lose that, ere I would betray my 
countrymen or agree to an act of dishonor.’ 
When the commissioner came in, Julian 
rose calmly ; after he had declared his busi- 
ness, he cast a withering glance of scorn 
and defiance at the commissioner, saying, 
‘ Sir, I am an humble individual, and whe- 
ther needy or not, thy sovereign has not 
gold enough to seduce me. Sir, I shall re- 
port the affair to congress, and let me add, 
that you have degraded your king in such 
an attempt.’ ^ 

“ Julian departed. ‘ What a fool !’ ex- 
claimed the commissioner. ‘ What a prize 
he has rejected !’ said the elder Villoc. I 
could bear no more — I left the room. Oh ! 
Amelia, how anxious I am to hear from 
my parents on the all engrossing subject 
of my thoughts. 

“ Yours ever, and affectionately, 

“ St. Ille.” 


132 


ONSLOW, 


Letter Fourth. 

“ My Dearest Amelia : 

“ This is the saddest week of my life ; 
the enchantment is over; the dream of 
happiness has fled forever ; the stern deci- 
sion of my father has reached me too soon ; 
it is to break off* instantly all arrangements. 
The best and kindest of fathers has for the 
first time been harsh to me. I know that 
he has been deceived. I know that it 
springs from the most devoted love, yet it 
freezes up all my hopes. He called him a 
rebel, a foundling of some hospital, and un- 
known to any person except some strag- 
gling astrologer or counterfeiter ; he called 
him a leader amongst the vagabond brawl- 
ers of the rebel party; he conjured me 
to return home, by every sacred tie and in- 
junction, by my prospects of happiness here 
and hereafter, by the last command of a 
dying father. He added, ‘ break off* in- 
stantly all connection, all engagements 
with Julian Villoc or Onslow, for Mr. 
Villoc writes me that he is not his son, 
but is a common vagabond, unworthy of 
the least confidence. Repair to New York 
with Colonel Arbuckle and lady, and come 
to Charleston with them, as I learn from 
good authority that Sir H. Clinton will sail 
tor Charleston early in the spring. I am 
in wretched health, and do not let me have 
to reproach you with disobedience, if I ever 
should see you again in this world.’ 

“Ah! Amelia! I had not the courage 
to discard Julian. Death would have been 
welcome ! A burning fever seized me ! 
Julian flew to my apartment — oh ! how the 
sight of him revived me ! He was so kind, 
so affectionate, and yet I meditated his in- 
jury ! I gave my father’s letter to Julian 
— he read it — he took hold of my feverish 
hand ! ‘ You do not believe such vile ca- 

lumnies 1 You cannot believe me capable 
of being misled by an astrologer, a canting 
hypocrite, and a counterfeiter!’ 

“ ‘ It is as false as hell !’ exclaimed the 
mineralogist, ‘and I will prove it yet; be- 
cause I would not join the black Masonic 
fraternity of Villoc, because I would not be 
made his and his hellish crew’s tool, I have 
been persecuted in his private letters ; but, 
thank God ! the lying villain can poison 
the ears of no one where he has gone. But 
God forgive me !” he ejaculated, “ I must 
pray for my enemies.” 

The mineralogist read on. 

“ My dearest Amelia, Julian asked me 
if I required proof of his character, or if I 
believed a syllable of the vile calumny! 


‘ No ! no ! my dearest Julian,’ I said, ‘ my 
heart tells me it is false !’ 

Julian was overcome; he flung his head 
on St. Ille’s shoulder, and wept; wiiilst 
St. Ille could not repress her broken sobs. 

The mineralogist read on. 

“ Yes, Amelia, it was the last moment 
of our departed happiness. ‘ Julian,’ I said, 
‘ I love you — you know it too well. I must 
obey a dying father; I will obey him, al- 
though it may cost me my life.’ ‘ What,’ 
exclaimed Julian, ‘will you not allow me 
to stand before him, and prove to liirn that 
I am not unworthy of his daughter, that he 
has been grossly deceived by dark and ma- 
lignant falsehoods!’ ‘No, Julian, there 
can be no conditions; my heart knows no 
half way measures of obedience, implicit, 
unqualified obedience to a dying father, 
although it will cost me misery as lasting 
as life.’ Julian rose with a calm and 
sedate brow. ‘ Farewell, then !’ said he, 
‘ may your health and that of your father 
be restored ; I am but a slight sacrifice, so 
you pursue the path of duty.’ ‘ What,’ 
said I, ‘ will you not return to mourn over 
our buried love, Julian! Will you not 
come and solace me to-morrow !’ ‘ I have 
no right,’ he replied, ‘ to take any advan- 
tage of your acknowledged affections or 
friendship. Carry out the stern decrees of 
your father.’ Alas ! he is gone, and I am 
desolate. 

“ Your afflicted friend, 

“ St. Ille.” 


Letter Fifth. 

“ New York. 

“ My Dear Amelia : 

“ I have heard that Julian was taken a 
prisoner at the battle of Germantown, and 
is now on board of the ship bound for 
Charleston. I fear he is not well treated. 
I will entreat Mrs. Armond, I will entreat 
Sir Henry Clinton to have him comfort- 
able. 

P. S. — I am on board ; we are ready to 
sail. Mrs. Armond says he looks well. I 
have just obtained the promise of her influ- 
ence in obtaining his parole. Oh ! how I 
rejoice. I will see him, perhaps, again. I 
will entreat my father to see him, and to 
investigate the subject. I will entreat 
permission to invite him to my father’s 
house. Alas ! Amelia, my father’s health 
is wretched. I am at home. My father 
has consented that I may ask Julian’s for- 
giveness ; but I fear that I shall never see 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


133 




him again. I subjoin his first lines of 
poetry ; keep them, for my sake. 

9 “ Yours, ever and truly, 

“ St. Ille.” 

LINES 

On presenting two Cornelian Hearts, in- 
terwoven with each other, to St. I. G. 

Oh ! could I now together join 
Like these my ardent heart to thine, 

Not all the eyes of liquid blue, 

Nor all the cheeks of roseate hue, 

Nor dimpled smile, nor raven hair, 

AVith all perfections rich and rare. 

Could ever disunite them. 

Then, dearest one, do not decline 
This willing prolfered heart of mine ; 

A truer, or a warmer one, 

Never can seat thee on its throne; 

And oh ! could ours together blend, 

There ’s naught of ill this world can send, • 

^ Should ever disunite them. 

The mineralogist suddenly disappeared ; 
no description can reach the high wrought 
feelings of the lovers. 

“ Are there any amends I can now make 
you, Julian 1” said St. Ille, as Julian im- 
printed a warm kiss of generous forgive- 
ness. 

“ It is I who must make them, dearest 
St. Ille, and I will yet prove myself worthy 
of your hand, to the world, to your mother, 
and even to your guardian. Major Walden,” 
said Julian, as he gently drew the arm of 
St. Ille in his, joyfully returning with her 
to the house. 

“ A word,” said the mineralogist, over- 
taking them. “ Here is the correspond- 
ence, or the fragment of a love tale. It 
has accomplished what, perhaps, no other 
plan could, and but one thing remains, Ju- 
lian Onslow — adhere to the conditions I 
have imposed — there must bo a private 
conference between us — at sunrise, to- 
morrow, is the* appointed time.” 

“ Why,” exclaimed Amelia, as Julian 
and St. Ille entered the portico, “ you have 
been prodigal of moonlight. You must 
have attempted a voyage to some^fairy 
land.” 

“And you,” replied St. Ille, “must have 
been keeping guard over your new prisoner, 
or, perchance, you have surrendered at dis- 
cretion.” 

“Happy moments of reconciliation ! hap- 
py moments of first love !” thdught the 
young and gallant lovers, as they both re- 
tired. “Sweet sounds of renewed love! 
bright hopes !” thought the two fair maid- 
ens, as they sought their long neglected 
pillows. 

10 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

Tins night let due repast refresh our powers. 

Rut when the rosy messenger of day 

Strikes the blue mountains with her golden ray — 

In the dread front let great Atrides stand, 

The first in danger, as in high command. 

Pope’s Iliad. 

Sar. — And hark ! a word more ! 

Herald — I sliall not forget it, 

Whate’er it be. Sardanapalds. ' 

During the night Edward and Julian, 
who slept in the same room, were sum- 
moned by a servant to the hall. They im- 
mediately came down stairs, and were sur- 
prised to see the tall gaunt figure of Cap- 
tain Bucklebelt, and another gentleman, 
seated at a table, on which were such re- 
mains of the late bountiful supper and other 
additions as the ready kindness of Mrs. 
Milligan had supplied. 

Bucklebelt arose with an air of self- 
satisfaction to greet his young friends, 
and after giving them a cordial shake of 
the hand, introduced them to his com- 
panion, saying, 

“ Just as it should be, gentlemen ; you 
are both Whigs and both soldiers, and, no 
doubt, enjoy as much as I do the presence 
amongst us of our gallant friend. Brigadier 
General Sumpter.” 

“ We could have surprised you, gentle- 
men, and might, perhaps, have made pri- 
soners of each of you; but my friend. Cap- 
tain Bucklebelt, and myself, are disposed,”- 
continued the General, re-seating himself, 
“ to give you a more peaceable and friend- 
ly reception, for you perceive we are* on 
the recruiting service, and hope that you 
will join us.” 

Edward smilingly hinted that two such 
experienced soldiers would scarcely re- 
quire any assistance in their present 
agreeable enterprise. 

“ But,” continued he, inquiringly, “ as 
your presence is always the harbinger of 
action, we hope you really are upon a re- 
cruiting tour.” 

“ Too true, my dear sir,” replied the 
gallant soldier, wilh an air not altogether 
light, “ the time for action has arrived ; 
our good friend here brings glorious news; 
the conqueror of Saratoga, with De Kalk, 
Caswell, Stevens, and others, are coming 
to the rescue ; the stars and stripes* of the 

* The arms belonging to the United States, 
adopted after the Declaration of Independence, 
and in use to the present time, -were designed by 
William Barton, feq., a gentleman very eminent 
for his Heraldric knowledge and skill. — See 
Nicholson’s Encyclop. Heraldry. The armorial 
device, &c., was adopted 20th June, 1782, by 
Congress. 


134 


ONSLOW, 


Republic will proudly float in our own 
Carolina. Many of‘ her brave patriots are 
flocking- back to defend their rights and 
their hresides. Our enemies must be met 
and conquered — our country must be free.” 

The enthusiastic General stood erect. 
He was young, though large in frame and 
powerful ; his aspect was manly and stern, 
denoting insuperable firmness, and lofty 
courage. The features of the two young 
friends were fired by the noble bearing and 
reckless defiance which he so well exhi- 
bited in his whole appearance. Bucklebelt 
caught the enthusiasm of his friends, and 
straightened himself to his full height, 
saying, 

“You may be surprised at my sudden 
return, but I met one of the private and 
confidential couriers, bringing the welcome 
tidings that a gallant band of Continentals 
were coming to our succor. I exchanged 
despatches with him, and have returned, 
anxious to be the scud of the coming tem- 


ca 

wit 
ticu 
tion. 
in to 
in thi 
tain h 
The 


pest. I wish to lift the trail of these wild 
beasts by the time the bloodhounds of Jus- 
tice are let loose upon them, to follow them 
up in their windings of carnage and mas- 
sacre.” 

“ If you have a relish for immediate ac- 
tion,” said Edward, “ you can have a chase 
after the Bloody Scout, who have passed 
through this neighborhood, indulging in 
their usual pastimes ; and they have paid a 
just tribute to your fidelity to our good 
cause by burning your houses to the 
ground.” 

The astonished Captain stood motionless 
for a minute — the very blood seemed to 
curdle in his veins — his ashen cheeks 
grew paler. 

“ And my wife and children J” 

“They are all safe,” replied Julian, 
anxious to relieve the terrible agony and 
suspense of his friend. 

The foregoing conversation was sudden- 
ly interrupted by a loud call at the gate. 
Mr. Milligan, who had been a silent lis- 
tener to the preceding conversation, pro- 
posed that he should go out and ascertain 
who demanded entrance at so late an hour. 
Tn the mean M'hile, he suggested that his 
■fiends should retire to another room. 
When he returned he stated that a man 
lling himself Captain Timmy Tidder, 
ihed to see Mr. Edward Conway on par- 
lar business. It was, upon consulta- 
deemed best to keep the little express 
tal ignorance of the presence of those 
■! room, whilst Edward should ascer- 
is business. 

interview between Edward and 


Tidder resulted in the former’s returning 
to the room and reading tlic contents of the 
despatches bi ought by Tidder at tlial^un- 
reasonable hour of the night. It was an 
invitation to Edward, from his mother, to 
return home, and join the family and 
friends in a dining party. The P. S. 
stated that several eminent royal officers 
would be present, and suggested the pro- 
priety of his inviting such of his acquaint- 
ances as he might think would feel agree- 
able, after they had been informed of the 
probable comjjosition of the company. 

“ You have a fine opportunity now, gen- 
tlemen,” said the General, ‘,‘of making 
court to the royal party. Promotion looks 
each of you in the face.” 

Edward smiled and observed — “ As I am 
fond of dividing my good luck, at all times, 
with all of my friends, I now give you a 
special invitation to Colonel Arthur C(^- 
way’s, to dine, in company with some of 
his majesty’s officers and friends, the next 
day after to-morrow, at 2 o’clock, P. J\I.” 

“ I most cheerfully accept of the invita- 
tion,” hastily replied Bucklebelt, “and I 
hope that we shall have the company of 
our friends, General Sumpter and Mr. 
Onslow.” 

Julian declined the invitation, stating 
that he had already intruded on the family, 
for which he felt ashamed ; further adding, 
that he had the honor of knowing most of 
the gentlemen who would be present. 

“ But I hope,” continued he, “ that my 
good friend, the little express, will not be 
so unmindful of his dignity as to appear 
again on the field of his discomfiture.” 

“You are mistaken,” replied Edward; 
“ he has a special invitation from Cato ; he 
says that he was sorry that you and Cap- 
tain Bucklebelt had taken an alarm, and 
cut out for the North State, as he would be 
deprived of your company at the dinner; 
but he consoled himself in' the belief that 
you had both escaped instant death from 
Clannagan. ‘I heard him,’ said Tidder, 
alluding to Clannagan, ‘ tell Fannon to 
keep a lookout for both of them, when he 
got back to North Carolina, for he meant 
to have both if they were this side of hell ; 
one was a spy sent out by the Whigs, and 
had broken his parole, and the other would 
be a good scare-crow, to alarm the balance 
of the rebels.” 

General Sumpter looked grave ; he 
earnestly dissuaded Julian from throwing 
himself into the power of banditti, who 
had evidently plotted his destruction. 

“ It would be folly to disregard the vari- 
ous indications of their malignity. Captain 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


135 


Bucklebelt has already imformed me of 
their implacable hatred towards you. I 
kno^ many of their leaders and their se- 
cret plans; you will be safest in the camp 
of your friends. As to Edward, I cannot 
pretend to advise him, but I shall on the 
day of the dining party at Forest Hill, 
give the first blow, and set fire to a train 
that shall rouse the whole up-country. 
This calm of lawless despotism suits not 
the genius of our people — it suits not the 
hallowed cause — there must be a blow 
struck, to awe our enemies, and urge on 
our people to step forth to the rescue of our 
fallen fortunes.” 

‘‘ I am for an immediate attack at all 
points,” exclaimed Edward, “and if Cap- 
tain Bucklebelt seconds my motion, whilst 
you surprise the post at Williamson’s, we 
will strike a blow at Forest Hill.” 

“ Yes,” replied Bucklebelt, “although I 
am the last man to interrupt the social 
hospitalities, (which, God knows ! are get- 
ting vastly out of vogue,) and, least of all, 
at your father’s; yet Clannagan and his 
crew are to suffer from my hands ; I have 
sworn before this hour, and I again renew 
the oath, for they have in a time of pro- 
found quiet and possession outraged my de- 
fenceless hearth, and my life is now staked 
on revenge.” 

General Sumpter warned. Bucklebelt 
against the impolicy of any rash and ill- 
disguised scheme, unless the prize was 
evidently worth the struggle, especially 
when the whole country had a claim to 
his services ; and to Edward he pointed 
out the dilemna in which he might place 
his parents, and perhaps his uncle, as hav- 
ing instigated a breach of hospitality. The 
answer from Bucklebelt was, that he in- 
tended to have “a fight or a foot race.” 

The General and Julian retired to bed, 
after taking leave of their warlike friends. 
Bucklebelt escaped at a private door, to 
prepare for the contemplated attack on 
Forest Hill.” 

Edward, in the meanwhile, went into 
the hall, where the express was, and found 
him descanting with great volubility upon 
mines and minerals, and the kind of fires 
he found most common to flash and burn 
about them, and their beds and veins. 
Tlie mineralogist, (who had risen, unable 
to sleep from the agitating effects of the 
late scenes through which he had just 
passed,) was listening with a mixture of 
scorn and credulity. 

“ I was just^ about telling this great 
money-finder,” said Tidder, “that, if he 
would pay me well, and furnish me in a 


good, soldier-like manner, and give me a 
good fat sliare of the nett profits, I would 
ride with him, and furnish some useful in- 
formation about the mines, and the way 
I ’ve always thought best to find them ; 
now as regards the smell of brimstone, 
and the Jack-with-a-lantern fires, I never 
placed much faith in them, although they 
follow ghosts and hobgoblins, and buried 
money, and the like; for when the ghost 
had hold of me at the double ford, the night 
I rode express after the great Doctor Cain, 
I saw monstrous huge balls of fire skipping 
and floating about, same as an army of 
lightning-bugs, although I am not exactly 
satisfied that these fires and sulphurous 
smells are any thing of value, for, to speak 
uprightly and down right honestly, 1 al- 
ways put more faith in finding the metal 
itself.” 

“ You perceive, sir,” said the mineralo- 
gist, addressing Edward, “ it would be> 
throwing pearls before swine to argue 
with a numbskull'on the science of miner- 
alogy. He confounds all in a jumble, chem- 
istry, witchcraft, and the wild traditionary 
stories of VVill-of- the- Wisp, are nonsensi- 
cally paraded together. It is just such 
seekers after lucre and wages who have 
thrown such unjust suspicions on the great 
art of which I am professor.” 

“ Do you mean to insult me by speaking 
of hogs and numbskulls, pearls and witch- 
craft! For,” said Tidder, “ if you are in 
earnest, there is not the man between the 
heavens and earth shall do it without a 
reckoning. I will let you know, Mr. Tin- 
ker,” continued Tidder, somewhat pacified, 
perceiving no warlike motions on the part of 
his antagonist, “ that I am seldom scared, 
except by a sudden super-nat’ral wisitation, 
as in the case of the great Indian’s ghost 
affair, or some hidden devilment. Being 
fatigued, and pelted by a monstrous storm 
of hail, and choked dumb and blind, no 
wonder, then, if I was spiritually and 
bodily nonplushed out of my senses for 
awhile, but, if any thing, I think, Mr. Ed- 
ward, that I am rather more in my ele- 
ments, and have a more freer use of my- 
self and mind than ever, at this present 
instantum.” 

“ Judging,” said the mineralogist, with 
a sneer, “from your fiery eye-balls, and 
especially from the nonsense just poured 
out, I should infer that you were then 
drunk, or in the habitual use of alcoholic 
potations.” 

“I am a soldier,” fiercely exclaimed 
Tidder, “ and now call on you for a fight 
or an apology for the words you liave just 


135 


ONSLOW, 


spoken ; I will resent an insult over a bar- 
rel of gunpowder, even if I knew it would 
blow me into ten thousand atomies the next 
moment.” 

Edward promptly interposed, telling 
Tidder that he was in a private house, 
and that the mineralogist had said nothing 
v.’hich demanded a sudden and rash appeal 
to a personal conflict. 

Let him froth and foam, let him rail 
and play the braggart. I am not in his 
way — he is not in mine — the motives for a 
conflict are therefore removed far from 
each of us. But,” continued the miner- 
alogist, “there are others for slighter 
causes, and wnth less provocation, could 
readily excite me to words and even 
blows; but I am tor peace. I have mat- 
ters of greater importance than to encoun- 
ter every wind-mill which may fall in my 
path.” 

“ Well, then,” said Tidder, “as you are 
for peace, I ’m for peace, too ; but if I had 
Squire Onslow here, he could testify that 
my hard fighting occasioned him to get out 
of the clutches of his enemies ; and he was 
right to slope off, for they still ^ay he ’s 
broke his parole, and that he tried to raise 
an insurrection at the big flat-rock, on 
July the Fourth, ultimatum.” 

Edward had disappeared, and the miner- 
alogist, suddenly leaving the house, mut- 
tered to himself^ — 

“ I must saddle my horse. My protege 
shall have an exchange. Julian shall not 
fall into the hands of his enemies. Colonel 
Clannagan must explain his course, or else 
we separate forever. If he attempts to 
thwart my wishes, he shall yet rue the 
day. I begin to suspect him.” 

The little express, left alone, and seeing 
the good cheer on the table, which, in the 
bustle and confusion, had not been removed, 
said to himself — “ This is a very clever 
gentleman, to keep his table always pre- 
pared for his visitors. It shan’t go a-beg- 
ging before the eyes of a soldier;” and 
down he sat, under the full persuasion that 
he had, at last, met with one gentleman 
whose hospitable board was always spread 
to cheer and to comfort his visitors. 

The mineralogist, after he had caught 
his horse, earnestly besought Mrs. Milli- 
gan to send Julian to him, adding, “he 
must excuse me, my business is urgent, 
and it is important that I should see him 
before I depart.” 

“ You see,” said the mineralogist, to Ju- 
lian, after they had walked some small dis- 
tance from the house, “ that moon, and the 
stars, now twinkling in the firmament — 


sooner shall they fall at our feet tlian I 
would betray thee to Clannagan ; although 
I was tempted at Mcllhaney's to have thee 
arrested, because I thought that you avoid- 
ed me; for I knew too well, that their ac- 
tions, countenances, and words betrayed 
them. I heard you move, I heard the 
click of your weapons,— but let that pass. 
I now go to Clannagan to demand your ex- 
change, and to obtain a solemn promise, 
that he will not countenance the nefarious 
schemes and machinations for your arrest ; 
but time is precious, life is short, and I 
grow apace in years. One more pledge 
from thee, and I shall be contented until 
the great desideratum is obtained. It is this : 
When you, Julian Villoc, alias Onslow, 
obtain wealth and power, will you favor 
my great scheme! Promise me,” said 
the mineralogist, growing impatient at the 
seeming hesitation of Julian. 

“ Most assuredly I will,” replied Julian, 
“ but I fear, if you wait for my assistance, 
that the day is far distant, before you can 
realize your expectations.” 

“ Thou hast said enough,” said the mine- 
ralogist, with a deep sigh, “now to the 
promised disclosures — thou art in the midst 
of startling developments.” 

“What! St. Ille my relative! is Mr. 
Milligan! tell me,” demanded Julian with 
deep earnestness. 

“ No ! hast thou forgot what I told you 
both! No. St. Ille, nor Milligan, nor 
even I, who have been taunted as wishing 
to foist a needy brat upon the rich and no- 
ble, — no, but this I will say : Edward Con- 
way is the great rival in the way, but his 
destiny is fixed; I have examined his na- 
tivity ; his fate is dark and portentous.” 

“ Oh 1” exclaimed Julian, “ for God’s 
take, for my sake, never, my dearest 
friend, consent to any scheme or arrange- 
ment, detrimental to his success in life, or 
his personal safety. I would sooner forego 
advancement, and die an unknown wander- 
er, than that one so brave, so generous and 
noble, should be injured.” 

“Glorious sentiments,” exclaimed the 
mineralogist, “ but alas 1 We cannot con- 
trol the decrees of fate. The house of Wal- 
den totters, to its fall ; its days are number- 
ed. It has withheld its power and wealth 
for the promotion of the general good. It 
has buried its talent. I have struggled to 
avert the calamity, but my arm is too short. 
The threats of violence and revenge still 
ring in my ears ; but I will save thee from 
the power of thy enemies, or die in the at- 
tempt. Farewell.” 

“ But stop,” said Julian, “do not leave 


A TALE OP THE SOUTH. 


13T 


me in such suspense — tell me, I beseech 
you, who are my parents'? I demand it, 
as a right, if I cannot obtain it as a boon. 
Even Mcllhaney has hinted that he knows 
my origin. And Edir Immerson herself 
speaks of my resemblance to persons she 
has once known. Certainly I am the very 
football of gossip and conjecture.” 

“ Nineteen years ago, this very night, 
and you were placed in the hands of Mell- 
lianey. Three years thereafter, you were 
placed under my care.” 

“ Your proof,” e.xclaimed Julian, in the 
highest excitement. 

“ Be calm,” replied the mineralogist, “ I 
am the proof. — Thy mother was as spotless 
as the stainless snow ; but I have already 
hinted in the fragment I read last night, to 
all the leading particulars. Suffice it to 
say, that I alluded to thee, to myself and 
thy ancestors. It was right, it was proper 
then, that you should be educated, watch- 
ed over, and not left to grow wild and way- 
ward ! And that with me as the founder, 
and you as the future patron of mineralogy,, 
I should be able to change the currency of 
every country, and be the means of raising 
my own to wealth and power. I tell thee 
that I cannot at this time disclose all my 
proofs and facts ; for the country is now 
turned upside down by the wars, but be 
patient ; set thy face like iron, against all 
who seek to divert thy attention and affec- 
tions from the glorious cause for which I 
have so long watched over thee. Disobey 
me, and I leave you to grope forever in the 
thick mists which still envelope your early 
history. But I must cease, I hear the jack- 
all of Clannagan departing; I must make 
use of him to conduct me to his master’s 
camp.” 

Julian again retired to bed, although the 
dawning light of the morning, indicated 
that he would have but a short time for 
repose. He felt somewhat relieved, from 
the disclosures he had heard, like one lost 
in darkness when he hears familiar voices 
near him; although he cannot see nor 
touch those from whom they proceed. Yet 
the approximation, the hope added new 
bouyancy and elasticity to the feelings. 
Thus it was with Julian ; he had found 
that the despised mineralogist had been his 
constant guardian, and however unable he 
might be to appreciate the justice or the 
feasibleness of his course; yet he found 
him ardently attempting to rescue him from 
the hands of his enemies, and urging him 
on in what he evidently believed was the 
path of duty. The images of his unknown 


parents floated in dim array before his im- 
agination, till he fell into a profound sleep. 

The reader, who has noticed the history 
of the revolutionary struggle for Independ- 
ence, need not be informed of the great and 
powerful exertions used by General Sump- 
ter, at all times and at all hazards, for its 
accomplishment. Few men ever possessed 
such a power of infusing his owm daring 
and chivalric spirit into his listeners. To 
the earnest inquiries the next morning of 
Julian, as to the course he should pursue, 
the gallant General, after he had heard his 
accounts of the implacable hatred of Clan- 
nagan, the manner in which Julian obtain- 
ed his parole, and the treatment he receiv- 
ed from Snyder and his accomplices, said: 
— “ You have but two chances, — the camp 
with sword in hand, or strict and wary cir- 
cumspection, until you can obtain an ex- 
change. Although I am an advocate for a 
strict adherence to all engagements, yet I 
do not hesitate to say, you would be ab- 
solved from any penalty for a breach of 
your parole; the very signers of it have 
voluntarily annulled its conditions, and set 
up others at variance with all the ac- 
knowledged laws of justice and humanity. 
Yet, my young friend, let us not be misled 
by any dishonorable act of our enemies, to 
depart from the strict line of our duty. The 
struggle, I fear, will be a protracted and 
violdVit one, and that side which approaches 
nearest the known and acknowledged prin- 
ciples of honorable warfare, must and will 
receive the kind wishes and ultimate as- 
sistance of the people.” 

Julian thanked his friend, and ventured 
to suggest, that those views were such as 
he had already entertained, and that per- 
haps it would be best for the present, for 
him and Mr. Milligan to be ready at any 
hour, to render whatever assistance might 
be required in averting the probable ill-will 
which the proposed" active measures might 
produce in the Tory party, towards the 
helpless and defenceless ladies, then under 
Mr. Milligan’s hospitable roof. 

With assurances to Julian, that he should 
be received into active service, as soon as 
his exchange would admit. General Sump- 
ter, departed, to meet his gallant adherents 
then collecting at an appointed place; first, 
however, taking leave of his kind hearted 
friends, whose warm benedictions were si- 
lently offered up for his personal safety and 
future success. 

Of that brilliant effort which fell like a 
meteor from a clear sky on the succeeding 
day after his departure ; of that brilliant 


138 


ONSLOW, 


f 


display which marked the military genius 
and daring courage of General Sumpter, 
when he fell unexpectedly on his enemies, 
and gave them the first blow, after a long 
calm of despotism, this is neither the 
place nor the occasion to speak, nor shall 
we detail the plan of the attack, or its sub- 
sequent influence on the cause it was in- 
tended to further. The brilliant efforts of 
the camp under regular military array 
must be left for the present to the pen of 
the historian ; the more humble record of 
personal adventure, and partisan strife, 
claims our immediate attention. 

Bucklebelt and Edward, it will be recol- 
lected, set out in pursuit of the Bloody 
Scout, and, if necessary, to carry their 
blow even to the collection of officers ex- 
pected at Forest Hill.' They traveled 
silently and rapidly ; seeking the hiding 
places of Coldfire and his associates. — 
“ They shall seek their fortresses and their 
strong holds,” said Bucklebelt, and when 
the gallant continental army arrives, then, 
sir, they must seek the seaboard. 

Such were some of the expressions of 
the angry Captain in reference to his ene- 
mies. It was well that he could not fore- 
see the future disasters which were to fall 
on the troops, from whose valor he ex- 
pected so much. Whilst the several pre- 
parations already mentionec^ are in pro- 
gress by the Whig leaders, it may not be 
uninteresting to take a short glance at the 
opposite arrangements of some of their suc- 
cessful opponents. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

Zar. Oh ! if ihou hast at length 
Discovered that my love is worth esteem, 

I ask no more. — S ardanapalus. 

Here, flying loosely as the mane 
Of a young war-horse in the blast. 

Lalla Rookh. 

Lord Rawdon, a young and talented of- 
ficer, whose fair fame, in an unlucky hour 
of folly and wickedness, was forever blast- 
ed by the infamous signature and order for 
the death of the immortal Hayne, was 
now in command and had possession of 
Camden. 

liOrd Cornwallis had repaired to Charles- 
ton, and was awaiting the busy prepara- 
tions in progress under Gen. Gates. Al- 
though the movements of the latter engag- 
ed his special attention, yet he seemed to 
apprehend no sudden outbreak of the peo- 
ple of the State, and a general degree of 


confidence appeared to pervade the whole 
of the royalists and their friends. 

As has been stated, the house of Mrs. 
Wittingham was a kind of head-quarters 
for the dominant party ; one of those places 
where frequent visits break down the re- 
straints of the visitor, and break down the au- 
thority of the owner ; and the good widow 
either felt too much honored by such fre- 
quent distinctions, or found it a thriftless 
effort to expend her fruitless energies in 
an attempt to change the destiny of her 
house from its acquired pre-eminence. The 
party of which Notwood was the ac- 
knowledged head, comprising his lady, Capt. 
Gant, Miss Dash wood, and others who oc- 
casionally spent several days with their 
friends, had passed their time at this place, 
visiting their neighboring acquaintances, 
and enjoying the society of the gay and 
fashionable who flocked thither to seize the 
opportunity of paying court to this devoted 
party of Royalists. 

Notwood found a broad and pleasant field 
for intrigue. His leisure moments were 
now turned to other pursuits than politics. 
The open, frank and confiding manners of 
Miss Dashwood, her daily associations, her 
feelings of conscious security, her depend- 
ence on the Notwood s for protection ; at 
least that kind which is the result of 
friendly intercourse and absence from rela- 
tions and friends, — that happy dependence 
which the female heart delights to ac- 
knowledge, which like the tendrils of the 
vine, in congenial climes, is fearlessly 
stretched forth to grasp the object of its 
support, — made her day by day the con- 
stant associate and confidant of Notwood. 
The quick and interested eye of Mrs. Not- 
wood beheld with dismay the ardent and 
constant attentions of her husband. But 
the assumed smile, the concealment of her 
agonized feeling, could not prevent the 
falling tear and the suppressed sigh. The 
practiced eye and ear of the husband saw 
and heard them. He immediately divined 
their import and set himself assiduously to 
work to heal the wounded feelings of his 
wife. The more readily to conceal his fu- 
ture designs he broke forth, at a conveni- 
ent momejit, in the following endearing 
strain : — 

I tell you, Clara! that Diana is all life, 
all heart, heedless and fantastic. It would 
not do for you, dearest, to exhibit such 
broad expressions of feeling, but it has be- 
come second nature with her. As to my 
course towards her, it is merely to show 
her that we are not displeased with her, 
and do not look with cold and ascetic dis- 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


139 


content upon the display of that good na- 
ture, which is as much for our entertain- 
ment as for her own enjoyment. I like to 
draw otf from the turbulence of man — from 
the low intrigues of the camp, and fall 
back to those happy hours 1 used to spend 
with you. Believe me, Clara, I but at- 
tempt to call up the buoyant hours of youth, 
whose happy shadows come over my spirit 
like the sweet slumbers of the night over 
exhausted toil and innocence. 

“ But surely,” said his wife, ’with an im- 
ploring countenance, “ you could give me 
more of your company. I love always to 
be near you — even if you utter not a sylla- 
ble. 1 enjoy your presence ; and then our 
sweet children — they are so beautiful, so 
affectionate — they too are happy when you 
show them a look of kindness, and conde- 
scend to embark with them in their little 
schemes of pleasure.” 

“ Oh dearest ! my heart is always yours 
— always with our dear little ones. The 
attentions, the games with the ladies are 
mere pastimes ; no,” continued Notwood, 
with deep and affected earnestness, “ I am 
inviolably and forever thine.” 

Such were some of the endearing words 
and explanations of the parties. But still 
the attentions and schemes of Notwood 
were persevering and insidious. Under 
the guise of a deep and abiding interest in 
the future happiness of Diana, he affected 
great deference for her opinions and wishes. 
He was ever by her side, acquiescing, de- 
ferential, and extolling her wit ; thus catch- 
ing the enthusiasm of her nature, he plied 
every art to make her dependent upon him 
for pleasure and for counsel. He often 
hinted to his wife the necessity they were 
under, to render Miss Dashwood happy. 
“ If,” said he, “it is not convenient for you 
to visit; if you take more delight in rear- 
ing the tender minds of your children, yet 
it behooves me to move amongst the peo- 
ple. The young and gallant men, the fash- 
ionable and influential ladies; by the bye, 
Clara, it is my intention to make them con- 
centrate around me. I must become ac- 
quainted, familiar, with their leading traits, 
— the secret springs of their actions, and it 
matters but little whether I succeed by 
producing the prospect of wealth, or the 
capture of a fair damsel, or a generous and 
brave cavalier.” 

To these plausible and well disguised 
excuses, Mrs. Notwood had nothing to re- 
ply. But that instinct in woman’s love 
which is seldom wrong, and the first to dis- 
cern evil, whispered to her heart, that her 
husband was actuated by improper motives. 


and was preparing to sow the seeds of bit- 
terness, such as would poison the very 
springs of her devoted aflection. 

On the morning of the appointed dining 
day at Forest Hill, previous to the depar- 
ture of Not wood’s party, he addressed his 
wife in the following light and familiar 

o o 

style. 

“ Well, Clara, I have a notable scheme 
on foot. It is no less and important than 
to get Diana a rich and agreeable suitor. 

“ We have had enough already of such 
schemes; have we not been foiled already,” 
asked his wife, “ in our efforts of manag- 
ing Cathena and Capt. Gant I” 

“ Foiled already ! no indeed, Clara, you 
are too easily discouraged. I never despair ; 
the world, believe me, madam, is too full of 
dupes for any one to be discouraged in an 
enterprise which offers half the induce- 
ments held out by the one now in contem- 
plation. You know Felix Ashburn 1” con- 
tinued Notwood. 

“ Felix Ashburn !” exclaimed Mrs. Not- 
wood, taken by surprise, “ surely you do not 
intend to ruin Diana, by persuading her to 
marry such a shallow coxcomb ; they are 
both extravagant and would come to want 
in twelve months.” 

“ How uncharitable you talk, Clara ! It 
is true that Felix is a little hair-brained, 
but he is young and handsome, and what is 
best of all, he is very wealthy. You must 
recollect that it is time Diana was married. 
I can soon bring his eccentricities within 
proper bounds; you must not throw a 
damper upon the arrangement ; you attend 
to Gant and Cathena, whilst I enter upon 
this new field of enterprise. Get ready for 
our journey, whilst I prepare Felix for this 
new and untried experiment.” 

Notwood soon joined Felix; he knew 
his temperament ; he knew the nearest ac- 
cessible points to his vanity. “ Be bold, 
Ashburn,” he whispered, “wit for wit; 
pour out your compliments like hail upon a 
blooming field ; ply all your arts and skill ; 
be as the gentle breeze of the soft hour of 
April’s twilight ; show the haughty fair 
one that the mountain regions are as pro- 
lific of sentiment and feeling, as the low 
and marshy banks of the far famed Ashley 
and Cooper. She will stand the siege well 
— you must go on horseback; your gallant 
pair of grays will exactly suit — the gay 
knight and his lady love ! It will look like 
the days of chivalry and of the chase 1” 

Notwood left the enraptured Felix, to 
prepare Diana for the proposed arrange- 
ment. To her he expressed his deep re- 
gret in not being able to join her on horse- 


140 


ONSLOW, 


back. “ But you will have one of the 
knitrhts of the up-country by your side ; he 
is like yourself, wild and sentimental. — 
Now is your time to make an impression ; 
show the young’ nabob that he must bow to 
the charms of beauty, and show Cathena 
that you can make conquests under the 
very fire of her brilliant eyes. But,” ad- 
ded Notwood, gravely, “ I think she and 
Gant get along as if thOy expected to live 
always.” 

“Is he certain of success I” asked Miss 
Dashwood, in a tone of surprise. 

Notwood saw her solicitude, and was 
fearful of dispelling all her hopes, and yet 
was solicitous to leave some slender grounds 
of future success ; for he was not altogether 
unapprised that she entertained some 
grains of regard for his worthy friend. 

“ He is a very clever and talented gen- 
tleman, Diana; but Gant is devilish poor, 
and old Conway is abominably close fisted ; 
much, very much will depend upon my re- 
commendation ; but few are thanked for in- 
termeddling in love matters. But I ven- 
ture for once to express a good word for my 
young friend ; let me urge you, for my 
sake, to treat Felix gently ; he must have 
some quarters shown him. I tell you, Di- 
ana,” continued Notwood, as he gracefully 
handed his fair friend down the steps, to 
see the preparations making for her antici- 
pated ride, “ he must be caught.” 

Felix Ashburn was the only son of a 
wealthy widow, who resided in the neigh- 
borhood of Mrs. VVittingham’s. He was 
already heir to a heavy estate. His mother 
had on several occasions ventured to urge 
him to turn his attentions to the conquest 
of the fair Cathena, and he had determined 
to avail himself of the first convenient op- 
portunity to pay a visit to the family at 
Forest Hill, but having fallen in wdth the 
present party, that opportunity had never 
occurred. Felix was one of the lions of 
the party; he danced, he fished, laughed 
sung and promenaded. Notwood had mark- 
ed him out for a victim ; he had observed 
the favorable eye which Diana had shown 
towards Gant, and pitched upon Felix to di- 
vert her attentions to another point. His 
skillful hand managed the unsuspecting au- 
tomatons. 

Felix Ashburn was tall, graceful, and 
well proportioned ; his beautiful blue eyes 
and pale dark hair, were well calculated in 
conjunction with his sprightly and animat- 
ed features, to take the teelings of many a 
less susceptible heart, than the warm, gen- 
erous one of Diana. He was twenty-two 
years old, and at the age when the maturi- 


ty of the mind and person are taken on 
trust ; when the display of reason and ge- 
nius propel the hopes of the multitude tar 
into the future, predicting that years and 
experience will abundantly ripen and mul- 
tiply the fruits already exhibited ; whilst 
the mantle of charity is kindly thrown over 
the errors which may be exhibited as the 
mere result of youthful inexperience or cur- 
able indiscretions. Our hero was a con- 
summate hunter ; a great stickler for fash- 
ion ; in a word, he had fine horses, a good 
pack of hounds a handsome and well dress- 
ed servant, who was only a shade darker 
than his master, and only a shade or two 
behind him in following the ton ; falling 
as he did, heir (on the accession of every 
new turn in the ever varying modes of 
dress) to the doffed habiliments of his kind 
and indulgent exemplar. But now that a 
new impetus was given to the natural bias 
of Ashburn’s mind, he threw himself wil- 
lingly into the full current of the feelings 
of the company, in which he could now ful- 
ly sustain his pre-eminence to fashionable- 
ness. He became necessary for the life 
and pleasure of the party ; his horses, car- 
riage, servants ; nay, his happy buoyancy 
of spirits — his new and lively airs thrown 
off by a skillful hand from his costly and 
well toned violin, all made him welcome 
to a party, most of whom were in search of 
pleasure, and, unhappily, did not always 
stop to weigh the consequences of misap- 
plied time. Felix was not altogether de- 
void of boldness; for he as often originated 
as followed fashion. Sometimes the order 
and propriety of his combinations might be 
questioned, for he dealt in knee buckles 
and ribbons, a queue, hair-powder, boots 
with pointed toes, or whatever else suited 
his idea of the best and newest style. 

The reader must paint to the imagina- 
tion Diana Dashwood, whose person, ex- 
quisitely formed, was tastefully dressed for 
a fashionable dining party, now mounted 
on a beautiful dapple gray; his white 
tail flashing in the air, and his wide nos- 
trils expanded to the gentle winds, whilst 
his proud crest and flowing mane, and the 
flakes of foam from his bridle bits, are not 
unlike the view of distant billows as they 
chase each other in their undulating course. 
And Felix, too, is by her side ; he rides an 
exact match to the one he has furnished his 
fair companion, who manages so gracefully 
her proud charger. 

Felix was joyous and witty ; Diana was 
gay, frank and fearless. The road seemed 
a plain, and the woods and shrubbery were 
almost converted into gardens of pleasure ; 


A TALE OP THE SOUTH. 


141 


the sky was smooth, and unruffled by a 
cloud ; the breeze kissed the blushing 
cheeks of the unconscious maiden, as if ex- 
ulting in its conquest over the envious eyes 
of the gay and gallant cavalier who con- 
stantly gazed on them. 

The reader must leave Capt. Gant and 
the good widow Wittingham, Dr. C. C. 
Cain, and the remainder of the company, to 
get on through dust, and over hill and dale 
to the already familiar spot of Forest Hill, 
to notice, some three or lour hundred yards 
in advance, the gay and happy couple. — 
Sampson, the follower of his master, like a 
faithful servant, is laboring to keep up. His 
anxiety to imitate his master’s style of rid- 
ing, caused him to fret his steed to such a 
pitch of desperation, that he made several 
efforts to run away. The two high mettled 
associates, ill-matched as they were, could 
, not long keep at their present state. The 
horse of Sampson was somewhat of a racer, 
and finding the spur suddenly applied, be- 
came restive and furious, rearing, snorting 
and plunging, he s^zed the bit in his teeth 
and dashing suddenly upon the other two 
horses, a general race was the consequence. 
Diana, fortunately, was too much alarmed 
to scfeam, and, grasping the reins, held on 
with a desperate hand. The servant led 
the way, Diana next, and Felix followed in 
the wake. The latter soon ascertained 
that he could command his horse, but when- 
ever he atte mpted to render assistance to 
his frightened and endangered friend, her 
horse became more unmanageable; he how- 
ever exclaimed — 

“ Hojd on to the reins, Miss Dashwood, 
and do not become alarmed ; he will give 
way presently.” 

Away went Diana’s hat and feathers. — 
Felix is on the ground — he is up again in 
swift pursuit, with the recovered hat. — 
Down fall Diana’s combs — Felix dismounts 
— in a few seconds he overtakes her, — 
Sampson becomes exasperated and digs 
the huge rowels in his horse’s flanks — Di- 
ana’s horse is ambitious of overtaking him 
— Felix bawls and curses Sampson, calling 
on him to stop, — away goes the splendid 
reticule, and away goes the exhausted Di- 
ana after it. Felix is on the ground, pale 
and agitated, attempting to hold up the ex- 
hausted fair one with one arm, whilst he 
seeks his smelling salts ; they are applied ; 
the poor girl sighs — is pale, — is deadly sick. 
Felix pulls ofl’ his new coat and makes a 
pillow for her head, — he runs to the nearest 
brook — he fills the case of his splendid gold 
watch — he dips his white perfumed hand- 
kerchief into the stream, — he runs back, — 


he sprinkles her pale cheeks with water — 
the gold case is held to her lips — Diana be- 
gins to recover — she thanks him, — they 
both smile and blush — Felix has lost his 
horse, — he puts on his coat — Diana is seat- 
ed on the moss-strewn root of a tree — sighs 
and laughs, — the very tears run down her 
cheeks. Diana says she is unhurt, but 
feels a little exhausted, — Felix looks cheer- 
ful, and swears she is the best rider in the 
world, and has more presence of mind than 
all the women in South Carolina put to- 
gether ; — he will cut Sampson’s throat at 
sight, — his match horses are ruined — Di- 
ana entreats for the servant — fears he may 
yet be injured, — declares that the race^ was 
delightful — ^just such a one as she always 
desiied to have — Felix still breathes threats 
against Sampson, but Diana implores, and 
finally commands Felix, for her sake, to for- 
give the unfortunate and blameless servant, 
and Felix, for her sake, alone, consents to 
forgive Sampson. 

The latter, in the meanwhile, seeing the 
desperate state of affairs, summoned up all 
his strength and resolution, and succeeded 
in reining up his horse at Col. Conway’s 
fence ; he whirls back, followed by the two 
grays, and soon arrives at the late scene of 
disaster. Diana is again on the gay, but 
somewhat tired steed. Felix has received 
too good a lesson not now to watch that no 
misfortune shall happen to Diana. They 
both look a little languid and pensive, 
whilst the crest fallen Sampson lags behind, 
venting suppressed oaths upon his foaming 
and dripping steed. The party behind are 
dashing up, unconscious of the late disaster. 
Forest Hill is in sight, — a few minutes 
more and their arrival is announced. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

Tlie chance is even ; we will throw 

The dice thereon. But I lose time in prating ; , 

Prithee be quick. 

The Defoemed Teansfoemei). 

The day of feast is often one of anxiety, 
fatigue, perplexity, and not unfrequently, 
on the part of those furnishing the enter- 
tainment, of absolute distress; and this is 
more especially the case if the parties are 
stranger's — if tliey belong to different cir- 
cles of society, and have been habituated 
to different modes of visiting. The dining 
party at Forest Hill presented in an emi- 
nent degree the difference just described. 
Persons of the city and ton, foreigners and 
those from the interior of a State not then 


142 


ONSLOW, 


claiming any great progress in refinement, 
met together for purposes as varied as their 
distinct inclinations. The ostensible rea- 
son was a dining party, an interchange of 
friendly gratulations, and a further ac- 
quaintance amongst friends of the same 
political faith. The pride of Mrs. Conway 
seldom quailed under the ordinary exac- 
tions of company. She however, on this 
occasion, suffered from the constitutional 
timidity and irresolution of her husband, 
whose usual good manners and evenness of 
demeanor were considerably discomposed 
on this new accession at Forest Hill. For 
the presence of Notwood and of Colonel 
Tarleton, who had also arrived, served to 
add to the embarrassment of each. 

The ordinary bustle amongst servants — 
the hasty trolling of busy house-maids — the 
heavy step and swagger of those intent on 
faithfully performing their duty, was as on 
other similar occasions perceptible. Samp- 
son with his ruffles and twills, silk stock- 
ings and pumps, high frizzled hair and 
slick copper-face, was to be seen cutting 
and turning about with the great Major 
Domo, our old acquaintance Cato, at his 
elbows. And Prudence, the equable and 
discreet Prudence Conway, was flouncing 
about with the agility of former years. 
Fowls and fishes, beasts and herbage had 
been subjected to the culinary process, and 
some of the confiscated wines of Charleston 
had found their way to the backwoods, to 
be drank in execration of their quondam 
owners. 

The mansion of Forest Hill had been 
put under rigorous repairs. Gates, fences, 
walks, horse ricks, and all places calculated 
to meet the eye, were specially regarded 
in the general renovation. 

Our almost neglected friend, Miss Pea- 
body, flourished in renewed hope. Her 
long experience in manipulations, her 
lynx-eyed vigilance, all conspired to assist 
in the arrangements of the furniture, wa- 
ter pots, flower boxes. The forest and the 
stream bad furnished their rural produc- 
tions, as well as the arts of embroidery 
and the pencil. Miss Jemima had the ad- 
dress to disengage herself from all appa- 
rent connection with the arrangements of 
the dinner table. She, on the arrival of 
the first visitor, retired to the parlor. This 
arrano-ement had been strictly adhered to 
until Notwood and his party had been an- 
nounced. After the ladies had entered the 
parlor, and all necessary introductions hav- 
ng been attended to, she became restless, 
nd whispered to Cathena that a certain 
vine was not tastefully arranged. Called 


a servant to adjust a bush which did not 
accord with the others in the fire-place. 
Siie watered her flowers, poured fresh wa- 
ter to the wheat on the mantel-piece, ad- 
justed each tumbler, pitied Mrs. Conway’s 
embarrassments, saying to Miss Dashwood, 
“I know she is highly honored in the 
splendid acquisition to these wild woods, 
but she is too much harassed by her new 
position to feel easy.” She sighed outright 
against the coarseness of the up-country 
manners, exclaimed against the rebels, 
spoke of her acquaintances amongst the roy- 
alists at the North, and inquired of Captain 
Gant whether Lord Cornwallis still enjoyed 
good health and spirits. 

New tone and elasticity were given to 
her feelings; her natural ill blood warmed 
and cheered by the new scene. She be- 
came loquacious, and seenied to have for- 
gotten the acerbity of her temper, prodi- 
gally expending whatever of good feeling 
she had hitherto so religiously kept con- 
cealed. 

Cathena looked beaiftiful of course ; her 
short visit to Charleston added ease and 
freedom to the natural elegance of her 
manners. The rich flush of health played 
on her cheeks as she blushingly paid the 
necessary attentions to her friends. Her 
hair was decorated with a few pinks, 
scarcely perceptible through the arranged 
ringlets. A thin figured shawl served to 
cover th e alabaster neck, whilst the newest 
fashions of the times, adapted to her slender 
figure, added new graces and interest to 
those who find pleasure in an exquisite 
adaptation of the dress to the person. Miss 
Dashwood no longer looked on her as the 
hoiden without polish or manners. 

Although Col. Conway was no great pa- 
tron of the vineyard or alembic, yet on this 
occasion he had a plentiful supply of their 
respective productions ; and the usual at- 
tentions on occasions like this were not ne- 
glected. The worthy Dr. C. C. Cain ad- 
hered from the outset to peach brandy. 
Our fatigued though happy cavalier, in 
consideration of his late extraordinary race, 
consented to taste a glass of wine ; whilst 
Major Notwood responded in the staple of 
the country, corn whiskey. In due time 
dinner was announced by Cato. Colonel 
Tarleton, with a bluflf and frank manner, 
offered his arm to Mrs. Conway, who had 
a few minutes previously joined the ladies 
in the parlor. 

Notwood laughingly observed to Gant, 
that as they were young men they would 
remain until the seats at the table were 
filled. This produced a scene of some lit- 


A TALE OP THE SOUTH. 


143 


tie confusion ; Miss Peabody, and even Mrs. 
Wittin^ham, contending for the privilege 
of remaining, but Dr. Cain was determined 
neither to lose the lovely Miss Jemima, 
whom he had seized by the arm, nor to 
encounter the pangs produced by a deferred 
dinner. Col. Conway settled the temporary 
interruption by exclaiming, “ There is 
room tor all.” 

“ It is some of Notwood’s pleasantries,” 
said Tarleton, with an arch smile, “ he is 
always seeking an opportunity to fall in 
company with the young ladies.” 

There is not much chance for conversa- 
tion during a dining party in the outset, 
especially if a good appetite is met with 
corresponding cheer. But Dr. Cain, with 
his two female friends, between whom he 
sat, gradually became deeply absorbed on 
the subject of early marriages. Dr. Cain 
frankly declared that he was entirely op- 
posed to the fashion. “I tell you. Miss Pea- 
body, that it is out of the question for a 
young and inexperienced girl to be able to 
follow the Scripture command — ‘ Train up 
a child in the way he should go, and when 
he is old he will not depart from it,’ — say, 
for instance, a girl of fourteen or fifteen ; 
just think of the folly, and I must honestly 
add,” said the Doctor, turning to Mrs. 
Wittingham, “that you American ladies 
are largely addicted to such premature en- 
tanglements, misled by the quackery of 
that political enthusiast. Dr. Franklin.” 

“ I admit,” said Miss Peabody, flinging 
her head back and over towards Mrs. Wit- 
tingham, to avoid the scandal of a direct 
answer on such a delicate subject to her 
worthy friend the Doctor, “ that such a 
practice may obtain amongst the lower 
ranks, especially here in the South, where 
money, and not mind or accomplishments, 
seems to be the leading inducement in all 
love affairs ; but I declare to you most re- 
ligiously that a more enlightened and be- 
nevolent spirit prevails with us of the 
North.” 

“ I admit. Doctor,” said Mrs. Witting- 
ham, “ that you may be partly right, but if 
the parties are warmly attached and well 
suited in mind and disposition, (as was pe- 
culiarly the case with myself and husband, 
who married me at the age of fourteen 
years and six months,) I cannot see any 
just grounds of an absolute interdict to all 
early marriages.” 

“ Oh,” said the Doctor with a sigh, “un- 
fortunately for too many, you have deter- 
mined to do penance for that early love 
affair of the heart, by remaining single ; 
and here is Miss Peabody on my left, who 


unquestionably, from her intelligence, must 
have been cruel at an early age.” 

“ I was cruel I confess quite early, but I 
have learnt some little discrimination I 
hope,” replied Miss Jemima, looking around 
to see who were listening; but this con- 
versation was scarcely noticed by any pre- 
sent amidst the louder and equally inte- 
rested talkers who partook of the good 
cheer before them. 

“ I declare. Major Not wood, I wish that 
the Doctor had never studied medicine,” 
exclaimed Mrs. String Halt at the top of a 
hard husky voice ; “ there are so many 
faith doctors, root and spell doctors, and 
other quacks and charlatans, that it makes 
his practice exceedingly difficult and labo- 
rious. I wish. Dr. Cain, that you could see 
some of his poetical obituary notices and 
sketches of the lives of his patients, who 
unfortunately die when they neglect to 
send for him in time.” 

The beginning of the above sentence 
was directed to Not wood, who was busily 
engaged in a conversation with Felix and 
Miss Dash wood, but Mrs. String Halt fortu- 
nately turned it to one who felt a more 
lively interest in her subject. 

“ You are wrong, my dear Mrs. String 
Halt,” exclaimed Dr. Cqin. “ It is the 
noblest science on earth ; the physician is 
next and in some cases to be preferred to 
the divine. It keeps a sound mind in a 
sound body, makes all the functions harmo- 
nize, makes earth a paradise. The church 
owes the profession much, by tracing out 
the bearings of the several faculties of the 
mind, and by preserving its ornaments in 
sickness. The profession of law, nay all 
conditions of men, pay our profession due 
homage. What would be the mind with- 
out a sound bodyl — health to the cheek — 
peace to the -mind — long life and good di- 
gestion are in our hands — and the wounded 
in battle, as my worthy superior. Colonel 
Tarleton, well knows, find great consolation 
and benefit from our skill.” 

The preceding discourse was interrupted 
by the announcement, in rather an under 
tone by a servant, that a couple of strange 
looking men had arrived. Col. Conway 
immediately arose, his natural wariness 
never left him. They proved to be the 
mineralogist and his guide, whose pacific 
temper announced that all ill-blood between 
them had at least for the present been suf- 
fered to disappear. As they both walked 
into the parlor, Tidder caught a glimpse 
of his ancient friends Cato and his wife, 
who stood at a side table watching and 
directing the other servants, who were the 


144 


ONSLOW, 


immediate waiters at the table. The happy- 
express was electrified, and although in 
his shirt sleeves with his pantaloons tied 
lighily with a piece of buckskin around his 
waist, barefooted and dirty withal, yet dis- 
regarding the barriers which ordinary 
politeness is wont to raise on such occasions, 
he sprung boldly into the dining-room, ex- 
claiming, 

“ God bless you, my old lark, and you aunt 
Prudence, your most obedient ; you look as 
young and as spry as you did the first day I 
ever saw you. How do you do, ladies and 
gentlemen, one and all 1” continued Tidder, 
turning deliberately around and bowing to 
the whole company. “ Why I believe 
there is the great Col. Tarleton. How do 
you do. Colonel 1 and Dr. Cain to boot,” say- 
ing this the little fellow rushed forward to 
shake hands, saying, as he took hold of the 
hand of Col. Tarleton, “ I hope, ladies and 
gentlemen, T don’t obtrude.” 

“ By no means,” said the Colonel, shaking 
Tidder rather fiercely by the hand. 

Mrs. Conway was almost in a rage ; she 
looked at her husband, then at Cato, vainly 
attempting to catch his eye, for he, although 
somewhat abashed at first, now enjoyed the 
passing civilities as evidence of the great 
worth he had already attempted to stamp 
on the character of his friend, as a very 
polite gentleman. Miss Peabody could 
scarcely command her temper, so tho- 
roughly was she shocked by the gross in- 
sult offered to the party. Mrs, Conway at 
length beckoned Cato to her, and whisper- 
ing in an under tone, commanded him to 
take his particular friend to his own house 
and there remain till they both could learn 
a little common sense. Cato obeyed his 
mistress, and the whole company passed 
the intrusion off in a good natured feeling, 
with the exception of Mrs. Conway and the 
worthy governess. 

Scarcely was order restored, when they 
were interrupted by the mineralogist, who 
advanced near to Col. Conway, who had 
reseated himself, and said, without noticing 
the presence of those at table, 

“ Am I speaking to the head of this 
household. Col. Arthur Conway, who inter- 
married with a Walden 1” asked the miner- 
alogist with emphatic solemnity. 

“ You certainly are,” replied Col. Con- 
way, rising impatiently ft-om his seat. 
“ Take a seat in the parlor, I have company 
who are dining with me, and who, for a 
few minutes, claim my attentions. I hope, 
therefore, you will excuse me for the pre- 
sent.” 

“ Of course ! most assuredly,” replied the 


mineralogist, with a mingled look of scorn 
and derision ; “ do thy duty ; ‘ 1 have mar- 
ried a wife, said one ; I have bought lands, 
said another ; and I have purchased a yoke 
of oxen, and go to prove them;’ and” con- 
tinued he, as he turned from the door, in an 
audible voice, “ so it is with all who have 
heard of my profound discoveries; they are 
never prepared, never ready ; so it was in 
the days of Noah, of Sodom and Gomorrah, 
and so it will be now.” 

The mineralogist became agitated ; he 
walked heavily up and down the parlor, 
muttering to himself. At length he rushed 
to the door; his features deeply agitated, 
his eyes glistening with excitement, saying, 

“Now is the time for truth. Have you 
heard from your good lady the plans and 
devices of my grand national or rather 
state schemes'? Yea or nay. Col. Conway ? 
before these gallants gay and ladies fair. 
Ha !” exclaimed the mineralogist, “ Col. 
Clannagan, I am glad to see you ; I have 
threaded every thicket, have swam creeks, 
and watched every trail to find you ! Urge 
Conway to save himself and his guests ; 
urge him to adopt at once my noble plans.” 

The brigand had stealthily and unob- 
served entered the house ; his tall figure 
slightly bent; he advanced to meet the 
mineralogist. A flush of a moment passed 
over his sallow complexion, as he beheld 
the eyes of the company directed towards 
him. 

“ Col. Clannagan, I am glad to see you,” 
said Conway, rising to meet him. 

“ Speak out. Col. Conway,” said the mi- 
neralogist, “ time is precious ; dan ger ap- 
proaches and a word from you will avert a 
great calamity from your house.” 

“ After dinner, Jarvis,” was the sharp, 
cold answer of Clannagan. 

“ Of course, sir, after dinner,” reiterated 
Col. Conway. 

“ Now is the instant ; let it escape and 
you lose all ; your fate will be sealed.” 

“Sir, you annoy me, and disturb my 
company,” replied Col. Conway, with un- 
usual warmth. 

“ Then you reject my schemes ; yea or 
nay ?” 

“ Utterly and forever,” replied Conway, 
whirling^ on his heels, with great agitation, 
and pointing to Col. Clannagan to be 
seated. 

“ The mineralogist, with a countenance 
contending between rage and trepidation, 
stood in the door leading to the dining- 
room, and raising his right arm, he ex- 
claimed, 

“ I call Heaven to witness that I have 


A TALE OP THE SOUTH. 


145 


done my duty; time is precious; the feast 
of Nebuchadenezzar is before me ; ‘ mene, 
mene, tekel, upharsin,’ is written on the 
wall. I warn you to escape for your lives, 
or prepare for battle. Marcus, the valiant, 
and Absalom, the doomed son of this house, 
will be on you with the lank king of fa- 
mine, even he who hath blasphemously 
called his children after the wise and great 
men of antiquity.” 

“Give yourself no trouble concerning 
us,” replied Mrs. Conway, “ whatever re- 
spect I may have felt for you or your pre- 
dictions has been totally overthrown by the 
extraordinary impertinence you have just 
exhibited.” 

Mrs. Conway’s troubles were not yet at 
their heig’ht ; the ghostlike form of McQuirk 
thrust itself forwards, having heard the 
loud voice of the mineralogist and that of 
Col. Clannagan. His head was bound up, 
and his whole appearance indicated ema- 
ciation and distress. 

“ God bless you. Col. Clannagan,” whis- 
pered the wretch, “ you, nor Dr. Cain, nor 
String-Halt can’t save me. I have been 
blistered, bled, and famished to death.” 

“ For mercy’s sake,” screamed Miss 
Peabody, “ all Bedlam is turned loose upon 
us.” 

“ Rebels ! rebels ! Sumpter! Marion ! 
Clark ! Pickens !” shouted Tidder and 
Cato, who rushed wildly into the room, 
terror and dismay depicted on their coun- 
tenances. 

Tarleton sprung from his seat. There 
was something in his quick and hurried 
motions which caused general alarm, as he 
and Clannagan went forth to ascertain 
the truth of the alledged danger. 

“ Where is your strong-hold, in case of a 
surprise 1” asked Doctor Cain, hastily pop- 
ping on his goggles, whilst Miss Peabody 
and Mrs. Wittingham clung to him for 
protection. 

The scene of confusion cannot well be 
described. The proposed toasts were left 
unpledged in the untasted wine. The 
chairs had, in the hurry of alarm, been 
thrown to the floor ; the company showed 
that restless and uncertain slate which 
springs from having no distinct idea of j 
the proper course to be pursued. Cathena | 
clung to her mother ; Miss Dash wood j 
laughed, not knowing what else to do. i 
Mrs. Notwood sunk down on the floor, 
grasping her two children, whilst others 
eagerly ran to and fro, attempting to hide, 
or to see the cause of so much confusion. 

“ Where are your arms V’ shouted Not- i 
wood, as he coursed wildly from room to ^ 


room, followed by Colonel Conway, gather- 
ing the scattered weapons of the irresolute 
owner of the mansion. 

“ Shut the doors, and bring forth your 
arms !” said Clannagan, in a shrill, quick 
voice. “ Let the women be calm ; we 
must meet them ; it is the d — d traitor son 
of Conway, and that infernal murderer, 
Coldfire I” 

“To arms! to arms ! all must do their 
duty !” shouted Tarleton. 

A temporary silence during the hasty 
preparation in girding on swords and 
choosing pistols prevailed. But no sooner 
had the full cause of alarm been ascer- 
tained, than a general scream was set up 
by the affrighted negroes and children. 
Horsemen were seen issuing from different 
directions; the sharp crack of fire-arms 
and the shouts of the assailants adding 
new cause of alarm. The fright soon be- 
came general. The more resolute of the 
dining party, seeing the blows dealt on 
their allies, determined to mingle in the 
strife. Bucklebelt was seen engaged with 
Snyder, his long ponderous blade raised in 
the air, and rising in his stirrups, the ter- 
rific blow fell on the stout frame of his ad- 
j versary, who sunk lifeless to the earth. It 
! was apparent that Coldfire and his party 
, had surprised the Bloody Scout in their 
approach to the residence of Colonel Con- 
way. The Lieutenant pursued Jake 
Adams, and suddenly dismounting, closed 
in with him, dealing many blows with his 
dagger ere his athletic foe succeeded in 
making his escape through the gateway, 
which stood in front of the house. 

“ Mine ancient enemy !” shouted Buckle- 
belt, his long sword still dripping with the 
hot blood of his victim, “ no view from 
Mount Pisgah could have ravished mine 
eyes like the sight of thee.” 

Saying this, he flung himself from his 
horse, and advanced towards Clannagan. 

“Blows, and not words!” replied his 
adversary, as he planted himself to parry 
the threatening blade. Blow after blow, 
thrust after thrust, were dealt in quick and 
j rapid succession by each. The strength 
and rage of the one was met by the skill 
and cooler malice of the other. 

Chance threw Notwood and Coldfire in- 
to close conflict. The former was thrown 
to the ground, disarmed, and inevitably 
must have perished under the arm of his 
adversary, but the mineralogist, who stood 
gazing on the scene, and admiring the skill 
of his friend, shouted — 

“ Lay on, Coldfire, thou man of few 
words, but many blows. I see that thou 


146 


ONSLOW, 


liast more skill than thy arroo-ant associate 
and sacrilegious infidel whose brute force 
is matched against the patron of science.” 

Tiiese words, fortunately for Notwood, 
were spoken sufficiently loud to attract the 
attention of Captain Gant, who had missed 
him but a few minutes before. He sprung 
to his succor. The quick eye of Coldfire 
was not to be surprised, and he dealt his 
blows so steadily as to back the Captain 
near a group of his men, who, luckily for 
Gant, took him prisoner, and mounting him 
on the loose horse, which they had taken 
from Snyder, set off in a brisk gallop, hav- 
ing been ordered to retreat by Coldfire. 

Tidder, who had joined in the late sally 
from the house, ran back, calling on all the 
household to join in supplication to Colonel 
Tarleton for the life of Edward Conway. 
Mrs. Conway and her daughter, followed 
by Miss Dash wood and several of the ser- 
vants, immediately hastened to the spot, 
where they found Colonel Tarleton parry- 
ing the thick and fierce blows of Edward’s 
sword, beseeching him to surrender. 

“ Spare my child. Colonel Tarleton — 
spare my only son !” cried Mrs. Conway. 

Cathena, without waiting for an answer, 
rushed between the combatants, and fall- 
ing on the neck of her brother, was taken 
almost lifeless into the house. Edward, 
who, finding that Tarleton still begged 
him to desist, in consideration of the re- 
spect due to his relations, coldly assented 
to the proposition ; then bursting into tears, 
he hastily sought his sister. 

Bucklebelt had broken the sword of 
Clannagan, and was pressing him almost 
to the palings, when he heard Coldfire’s 
orders to retreat. 

“Another time, my special adversary, 
and the debt shall be cancelled,” said 
Bucklebelt, as he fortunately remounted 
his horse, which had almost instinctively 
awaited his need. 

“Aye!” replied Clannagan, “retreat! 
It is the last time I shall see you, until I 
order a court martial over your rebel car- 
case !” 

Thus ended the attack on Forest Hill ; 
each party had captured a prisoner, and 
the wretched deserter Snyder lay a spec- 
tacle of horror, cleft down by the strong 
arm of an infuriated enemy. Bucklebelt 
liad received a slight wound. The attack- 
ing party retreated rapidly, under the mo- 
mentary apprehension of immediate pur- 
suit, for they well knew that Clannagan 
was well acquainted with all the by-paths 
of the country, and wanted no incentives 
to cut off their retreat. But the fate of 


Snyder, and the horrible wounds of Adams 
•and Fawk, prevented him from executing 
any such design. 

“I am a prisoner,” said Edward Con- 
way, after he had assured himself of the 
safety of his sister, “and you need not in- 
trude on me, unless you intend to quarter 
me at once, or swing me up like every de- 
fenceless Whig which you may happen to 
capture. Have you your perjured wretches 
near, to swear away my lifel” 

“ You are not so safe as you may sup- 
pose, my young blood,” replied Clannagan, 
“and here, or elsewhere, recollect that I 
have no scruples in redressing my own af- 
fairs. You must keep your traitor tongue 
between your teeth, or you might get the 
slap of a sword somewhere about the 
face !” 

“ I dare thee to single combat, braggart 
as thou art. I will teach thee that one 
honest patriot’s arm can cleave a Tory 
from the top of his head down to his pol- 
luted heart !” 

Clannagan never lacked nerve, and this 
taunt by a Walden roused him to fury. 
Fortunately, there were too many eyes on 
each of them to allow matters to proceed 
to extremities. 

“ I will take charge of the prisoner,” 
said Tarleton, “as I have some little 
claims upon him as the fruits of victory.” 

“ Protect him. Colonel Tarleton, for the 
present — but you will yet see the day 
when you will have fewer incentives to 
play the interceder for such a puppy.” 

Clannagan ordered his men to prepare 
for the burial of Snyder, and afterwards for 
an immediate departure for his usual haunts 
of rapine and plunder. 

Search was made for Doctor Cain, to at- 
tend to the wounded. The valiant son of 
the pestle was found behind a door, grasp- 
ing with determined earnestness the muz- 
zle of an old gun, which he had appropri- 
ated to his personal protection, whilst 
McQuirk had crept cautiously under his 
own bed. 

“ Is this the manner in which you show 
your respect for your parents, by joining a 
set of heartless, low bred marauders, to 
break in on the hospitalities of a private 
family 1” said Col. Conway. 

“ You are my father,” replied Edward, 
“and I will not even insinuate that you 
seem rather anxious to propitiate the feel- 
ings of those whose conduct claims no re- 
spect from any of your family. Whatever 
may be your respect for the king, such 
outlaws and murderers as we were in pur- 
suit of, could expect no quarters even in 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


147 


your house, or under the protection of the 
regular officers of the invading army.” 

“ You are safe now,” replied Clanna- 
gan, who happened to be present, “ and 
you may continue to take advantnge of 
your supposed security. But I swear to 
repay you and your clan with interest. 
Yes,” continued he, eyeing Colonel Con- 
way, “ and I am not so certain that I shall 
not hold you responsible for this very as- 
sault — a snare laid by a white-livered fa- 
tlier, to show off the valor of his fool-hardy 
son !” 

“ Come,” said Notwood, “ Colonel Clan- 
iiagan is not warranted in making such in- 
sinuations.” 

“ Dare you,” replied Clannagan, fiercely, 
his light gray eyes flashing and kindling to 
a flame, “ to gloss over the acts of your 
relations 1” 

A nervous tremor shook his frame, and 
he bit his lips with rage, as the sallow hue 
of his countenance showed that he was 
ready to pounce on his friend. 

“ Peace !” shouted Tarleton, “ you have 
higher game to fly at, besides taking each 
other by the throat.” 

Thus a rising storm was prevented from 
breaking out between these closely linked 
partisans. 

Edward Conway alone stood unmoved, 
firm and haughty, as the proudest amongst 
them. 

Tidder, who came near, apparently to 
sympathize with Edward, was fiercely as- 
sailed by Clannagan. 

“ Be off, sir !” said he ; “ you and your 
wild friend have caused the whole affair, 
riding and babbling about your feasts and 
your patrons.” 

“ Do you allude to mO, Colonel Clanna- 
gan 1 Do you insinuate that I have led 
your company into an ambush 1 If so, I 
give you the lie direct ! Better bury your 
dead, and attend to the wounded, than to 
be making false accusations against your 
friends. Did I not forewarn you of the 
coming storm '1 Did I not read the hand- 
writing on the wall, and yet you insinuate 
treachery 1 Shame on your uncharitable- 
ness and wickedness of heart !” 

“ Come, gentlemen, let us all shake 
hands in peace,” said Tarleton, attempting 
to prevent any further ill-feeling amongst 
those who stood around Edward, under the 
shade of one of the trees in the yard. 

“ I, for one,” said Edward, “ will never 
consent to be on terms of friendship with 
those who pursue such indiscriminate and 
brutal practices. Restore the property of 
the widow and orphan ; bring back the 


murdered to their hapless friends ; wipe 
out the bloody deeds — the numberless 
wrongs — and then I might, if they were 
not dastards and traitors to the country of 
their birth, shake their hands in token of 
respect and friendship ; but sooner shall 
my right arm fall a polluted mass from my 
body, than it should extend its hand to 
clasp the blood-stained palms of such mis- 
creants.” 

“Ha! ha!” chuckled Clannagan, “I 
thank thee, boy, for that speech. You 
shall realize more of it than you appre- 
hend. Come, come, my dear friend,” con- 
tinued Clannagan, taking hold of the min- 
eralogist, “ let us have peace between us; 
let us attend to the burial of a valiant 
trooper.” 

McQuirk, finding order restored, went 
out to the place of burial ; he was in ex- 
cellent mood for weeping. The bloody 
and mangled corse had been borne to the 
grave by several of his comrades, and he 
wept bitterly, extolling the virtues and the 
valor of his friend at such intervals as his 
sobs and sighs would allow. Our friend 
Tidder, although he and the mineralogist 
had been recollected in a becoming man- 
ner by Cato, grumbled exceedingly at 
being pressed into a funeral, when he 
came to a feast. 

Such ever is the heart of man — instinct 
of life, strong and unbridled passions, min- 
gle their unhallowed desires^ with better 
feelings over the tomb. Death, at all 
times, produces its shoffit — but this sudden 
and terrible exit, without warning or ex- 
pectation, no catenation of causes to fore- 
tell its near approach, the catastrophe came 
upon feelings attuned to festivity and plea- 
sure — no preparation, no chastening hand 
from on high had humbled the beholders — 
no excitement from drum and fife, and all 
the circumstances of glorious war. Man 
soon accommodates himself to the decrees 
of fate; but here was a strong man, in the 
vigor of life, struck down as suddenly as 
the fall of an aerolite in a clear day. There 
were no redeeming virtues to soothe the 
loss — no sunny spots for the chilled eye to 
rest upon — the turbulent and restless spirit 
was called “ unannealed ;” and six feet of 
excavated earth held him who carried ter- 
ror and dismay in his train. 

Life is an enigma, and the soul recoils 
back, lost in the solution. The proud and 
the humble, the happy and the miserable, 
the beloved and the execrated, fall alike 
by the hand of the insatiate archer. 

“ Man is an outlaw from his mother’s womb, 

Until he finds his prison house, the tomb.” 


143 


ONSLOW, 


And they wlio cut fantastic tricks before 
high Heaven, and they who think this | 
world was made for them, need but to look 
a moment upon the surviving crowd — aye, 
upon the very dearest relations and near- 
est ties, when Death takes the very salt of 
the earth away — to see, after the first 
panic, the selfish, instinctive dread is over, 
how little of real grief is the homage paid 
to love and virtue ! Alas ! that it is true, 
and that it adds nothing to the vaunted dis- 
interestedness of human nature. 

As soon as all the necessary prepara- 
tions were made to let down the cofiin, the 
mineralogist, who was preparing to read the 
usual service in such cases, and to officiate 
as he deemed best, suddenly turned to Col. 
Clannagan, and said, 

“ I have one question to ask of thee, Col. 
Clannagan.” 

“ And what is that, sir 1” demanded 
Clannagan, somewhat startled at the unex- 
pected interruption of the ceremony. 

“ I wish to know whether the young man, 
•Julian Onslow, if found well disposed to- 
wards our grand scheme, and disconnected 
with any conspiracy against you and his 
majesty, the king, shall henceforth be suf- 
fered to live in peace and be treated as a 
gentleman 1” 

“ Darest thou,” answered Clannagan, 

“ over the mangled body of my best trooper 
to speak of forgiveness and friendship 
towards one of the chief conspirators, and 
one, too, of the hated and doomed! Has 
old Walden’s gold bought thee ! Have the 
hypocritical prayers of Milligan melted 
your heart! Are you the willing tool of 
Onslow and his clan! Have you been sent 
on an errand of circumvention ! Speak the 
truth for once, sir.” 

“ Once and forever, and as well and as 
truly as thyself,” replied the mineralogist, 
throwing down his books which contained 
the funeral service, “ I will not profane my 
sacred character by a mock service over 
the just judgments of Heaven. I wash my 
hands of the Bloody Scout, party and leader, 
now and henceforth.” 

“ Take the traitor into custody, Hunch- 
back,” said Clannagan, dealing the mine- 
ralogist a heavy blow with his scabbard, 

“ he shall yet suffer for his conspiracy. 
Tidder, I press you as one of his guards 
and as a future witness against him.” 

After the hasty ceremony of filling up 
the grave had been accomplished, Clanna- 
gan turned to Col. Conway, who was pre- 
sent, saying, 

“ I shall expect you, sir, to have my 
wounded men better attended to in future, 


I and to have a suitable enclosure placed 
I around this grave ; for a better soldier, 
and a more honest man Jhan thyself, now 
sleeps under your care, and in the soil 
which you now c[aim.” 

The partisan departed immediately, with 
the mineralogist in custody of his followers, 
leaving the mind of Conway a prey to the 
keenest apprehensions of evil. He cursed 
in vain his timid and time-serving course, 
and in his heart envied the feelings of his 
son, although a prisoner. 

Col. Tarleton ventured to inquire of Ed- 
ward in the presence of his mother how he 
became entangled and united with such a 
band of rebels as had attacked his father’s 
residence. 

“ How I became united with such a band 
of rebels, I can tell you. Col. Tarleton. 
By the common ties of injuries and injus- 
tice; by the damning crimes which cry up 
to Heaven day and night for redress. Not 
three days ago this Bloody Scout insulted 
the family of Bucklebelt ; insulted his wife, 
stuffed the throats of his children with dirt 
to compel them to betray their father. 
They hamstrung his cattle ; lopped off the 
necks of the poultry. Think you not that 
Bucklebelt and his friends have motives as 
lasting as life and as burning as hell to 
urge them on at all times and on all oc- 
casions for redress, regardless of the con- 
ventional rules which may be thrown 
around a common dining party ! I tell you. 
Col. Tarleton, that all your skill and 
bravery, all your mighty resources, will 
prove unavailing. The God of battles will 
frown on your best concerted schemes, if 
such outrageous atrocities are permitted to 
stain your cause.” 

Tarleton coldly replied that he was not 
responsible for the intestine quarrels of old 
enemies, and he cared but little which was 
right or wrong, so that the friends of the 
revolted colonies got a sound chastise- 
ment.” 

“ I come to do my duty,” he continued, 

“ and no new fledged preacher of political 
or military morality shall divert me from 
my purpose.” 

“ I command you to be silent,” said Mrs. 
Conway, bursting into tears. “ Do, for my 
sake, my dearest Edward, show loss tur- 
bulence of temper ; show more regard for 
the feelings of the friends of your parents.” 

“ I am silent,” said Edward, moved by 
the entreaties of his mother, “ and am ready 
to submit quietly to any sneers, questions 
or punishment \vhich my captors may de- 
cree.” 

“ You are not likely to become a martyr, 


A TALE OP THE SOUTH. 


149 


yet,” replied Tarleton, assuming an air of 
pleasantry. 

“ Did you see the Walden blood how it 
blazed out in that young rebel 1” said Mrs. 
Wittingham, aside, to Miss Dashwood. 

“ I wish I had such a brother,” replied 
Diana, gazing with admiration on the firm 
features of the noble youth, as he carelessly 
seated himself by the side of his sister. 

The two doctors, believing that their 
province was with the living and not with 
the dead, had during the burial of Snyder 
made a careful examination of the two 
wounded men, descanting at great length 
upon the different appearances of their 
wounds and gradually falling into compa- 
risons of the different modes of practice ; 
they were not very expeditious, of course 
preferring their own immediate pleasure 
or the advancement of science to the ease 
or comfort of their patients. The wounds 
of Jake Adams proved to be furious stabs 
about his breast. 

“ Any one of these wounds,” said the 
learned Dr. Cain, “ is mortal.” Then throw- 
ing up his goggles and looking at Dr. 
String Halt, who was not easily frightened, 
he continued, “I wish I had examined 
Snyder, to see the range of the sword and 
the particular organs destroyed. He was 
a noble frame ; a real master-piece of hu- 
man flesh. I say, brother String Halt, no 
surgeon can acquire reputation in this up- 
country warfare and banditti strife ; the 
appliances of our art are not at hand, and 
the usual transatlantic method of war and 
wounds are completely changed. Here we 
have stabs and gashes in all parts of the 
body, from the crown of the head to the 
sole of the foot. Old case-knives, scythe 
blades and mill-saws, pewter bullets and 
iron slugs, and I find in this case an old 
rusty file thrust up, and left without its 
handle ; the patient of course will die of 
mere irritation ; and were I to draw it out, 
he would likely die of hemorrhage. Why, 
sir, I should not be astonished to see him 
fall into tetanus. Take it all in all, Dr. 
String Halt, this is a very extraordinary 
case; new in the chirurgical annals, al- 
though I have read all that the European 
surgeons have written, (and, saving your 
presence, none others are competent to 
write books,) yet with great industry and 
long experience, I mean in the profession, 
compared with my real age, I have never 
met with just such a case; I must furnish 
it for publication in one of the medical 
journals of London or Edinburg,” 

String Halt, a little irritated at the frank- 
ness of his brother surgeon, thrust his fin- 

11 


gers into the wound. The patient, not 
altogether relishing such rough handling, 
began to wince. 

“ Be still, be still, sir,” exclaimed String 
Halt, “ I am exercising the utmost skill and 
tenderness.” 

The blood gushed in a torrent as he 
drew forth the broken dagger, but a pledget 
of lint, dipped in an astringent mixture, 
and a change of position, soon arrested its 
flow, 

“Don’t speak above your breath, and 
live on bran tea — and make free use of my 
lately invented puccoon drops, and you 
will recover,” said Doctor String Halt, as 
he finished the dressings of the wounds of 
the first patient. 

“ What — a new invention V’ asked Doc- 
tor Cain, looking at the tincture of the 
blood-root. “The Tinctura SanguinaricB 
Canadensis — I would prefer small doses of 
Tartar Emetic, spare diet, neutral salts, 
and moderate blood-letting.” 

“ Turn over — turn over — I have no time 
to throw away in hearing complaints,” 
said String Halt, addressing Fawk, who lay 
groaning piteously. “ Out on it, Fawk, be 
more of a soldier — men who thrust their 
heads into the lion’s jaws must expect to 
meet with slight accidents.” 

“ I can’t help mourning. Doctor — I am 
what I am, and I can’t be no amer,” was 
the sage reply of the unfortunate patient. 

“ Doctor String Halt is right, my friend, 
and for your example I will mention that 
Colonel Tarleton’s regulars never com- 
plain whilst under the hands of their sur- 
geon. But,” continued Doctor Cain, “ me- 
thinks this is a most unchristian gash — it 
must have been the work of a hewer of 
stocks, some carpenter, breaking his ap- 
prenticeship, and turning a dabbler in arms ; 
or else,” he continued, running his fingers 
under the scalp, holding the poor raving 
patient down with his knees and the other 
hand, “ some savage is certainly in the re- 
bel service. I ’ll get you. Doctor String 
Halt, to continue your researches whilst I 
go and inquire of the young Hotspur,” said 
Doctor Cain, rising, “ for I have never seen 
a wound inflicted by one of the aborigines 
before.” 

“ Why, Mr. Edward Conway,” exclaimed 
the Doctor, after he had entered the house, 

“ did you not have a savage in your attack- ■ 
ing party — a raw Indian from the interior! 
The very one, no doubt, which so alarmed 
my worthy little friend. Colonel Clanna- 
gan’s express rider.” 

“ I do not really comprehend the mean- 


150 


ONSLOW, 


ing you wish to convey, Doctor Cain,” re- 
plied Edward. 

“ You are right, sir, as regards my 
name,” said the scientific surgeon, eyeing 
Edward with an air of surprise, “ but I 
insist on the fact that you had an Indian in 
your band which so unceremoniously broke 
up the most agreeable private feast I have 
been at since I entered these revolted co- 
lonies. I come, sir, to verify my declara- 
tion to Doctor String Halt, and I call on you 
as a lover of science and truth, to speak 
out.” 

“ You are in my father’s house, and in 
the presence of ladies, or I might testify in 
a different tone — but, sir, if you wish to 
learn any thing of savage warfare, or the 
art of scalping, I must refer you to your 
worthy commander and friends, some of 
whom are still present.” 

“ I beg ten thousand pardons,” said the 
doctor, “ I meant no insinuations deroga- 
tory to you or your brave friends.” 

“ Let me bring about a truce,” said Ca- 
thena. 

“ I will join you,” said Mrs. Notwood, 
“ in the arrangement,” advancing towards 
Edward. 

“The matter is settled,” said Edward, 
smiling, and bowing his assent to his fair 
friends. 

“ Ay !” exclaimed Doctor Cain, “ I 
would incur a temporary misunderstand- 
ing any time for the mediation of such an- 
gelic voices. I am proud to find that I 
have such eloquent and potent advocates. 

I must exclaim with my friend Garrick — 

“ Now is the winter of our discontent 
Made glorious summer by the sun of York : 

And all the clouds that lowered upon our house, 

In the deep bosom of the -ocean buried.” 

The happy Doctor left the room amidst 
the smiles of the company, to investigate 
the hidden causes which had produced the 
inexplicable wound of the unfortunate sol- 
dier. 

Colonel Tarleton soon departed, with a 
few friends, on the road to Camden, whilst 
Notwood and Felix, with Doctor Cain, re- 
mained a day or two longer, awaiting the 
result of the researches which Clannagan 
and Colonel Tarleton should make in re- 
gard to the extent of the disaffection and 
strength of their opponents. 

'Every topic, after such a boisterous state, 
became stale. Felix only waited to an- 
nounce his passion for Diana. Cathena 
became melancholy, and the capture of 
Gant was not calculated to add to her 
pleasure. Notwood was silent and moody. 
Doctor Cain, however, mounted his gog- 


gles, and seemed to enjoy himself in pro- 
portion as the other gentlemen became de- 
sponding, or retired from colloquial strife. 
Sometimes the Doctor would quote Shak- 
speare, or hold a flower to one of the ladies, 
whilst he descanted on its medicinal quali- 
ties. But pleasure or contentment is rarely 
felt under the roof of those whose faces, like 
Colonel Conway’s and his lady’s, reflected 
nothing but gloom and dissatisfaction. 

Edward, who had been kindly paroled by 
Colonel Tarleton before he departed, wTote 
a letter to be conveyed by Cato to Captain 
Bucklebelt, or to his uncle, detailing that 
he had been captured, and expressing a 
great desire for an early exchange. He 
also earnestly insisted that Captain Gant 
should be treated as a gentleman. Cathena, 
who was shown the contents, expressed 
her satisfaction at the noble sentiments of 
her brother. 

Thus ended the long contemplated Din- 
ing-Party at Forest Hill, memorable too, 
at least, as having been amongst the first 
blows struck by a handful of brave Whigs, 
in defence of the prostrate liberties of their 
country, and as showing that indomitable 
spirit which seldom stood to calculate the 
chances of personal safety or convenience 
when an opportunity presented itself to 
harass their enemies. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

I approved of this extravagant proposal, not so 
much from Ambrose’s reasons, as out of pure viiiim, 
or a desire of acting a part in a play. 

Gil Blas. 

The party having Gant as a prisoner had 
traveled with great rapidity. The weather 
was exceedingly hot, and they had stopped 
for the purpose of resting a few hours, and 
to take their scanty supper of dried beef 
and a little boiled wheat, called fermity, or 
frumenty, a dish well known in the times 
of scarcity by those who were thrown into 
the turmoils and hardships of the revolu- 
tionary war. 

“There is a little matter. Captain 
Bucklebelt,” said Coldfire, with much 
gravity, “we had better settle. I^ife is 
uncertain, and I should dislike to be 
killed off without having the matter pro- 
perly arranged.” 

“ To what do you allude, Lieutenant 
asked Bucklebelt. 

“ The Court Martial I promised the ne- 
gro stealers.” 

“ Why, Lieutenant Coldfire,” answered 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


151 


Bucklebelt, “ it is now nine o’clock at 
night— it is too dark to have pen, ink and 
paper, and really I fear our company have 
not amongst them any such unusual arti- 
cles ; and I give it as my deliberate opin- 
ion that the regulators were righteously 
hung, and no legal proceedings now can 
avail any benefit to you or them.” 

“I am for strict justice, even at the hour 
of midnight, and I find that Ike Beeman, 
who Jives near this place, has come into 
one of our sentinels. He is one of my 
main witnesses ; I must keep my promise, 
for I should dislike to be swung up with- 
out a trial eitlier before or after I was 
dead. Yes, Captain Bucklebelt, I pro- 
mised the lads a fair hack, and as I have 
an opportunity to do them the last act of 
justice, I insist on holding the Court Mar- 
tial, and as they did tlieir deeds without re- 
gard to written laws, I imagine that we 
can but follow their example, when the ob- 
ject is strict justice.” 

Bucklebelt was appointed President of 
the Court Martial, taking the root of a tree 
as his seat. The corporals and non-com- 
missioned officers were to hear the testi- 
mony, and to adjudge the necessary pen- 
alty ; whilst CoJdfire prosecuted the cul- 
prits and offenders against the laws of the 
State of South Carolina. It struc^k the 
President that a Judge Advocate was ne- 
cessary, in order to complete the proceed- 
ings of the Court Martial. Captain Gant 
was made acquainted with the particulars, 
and was requested to act in the capacity of 
the defence for the prisoners. James Joice 
and Jeremiah Hanks were charged with 
various crimes; amongst the chief, were 
murder, house-burning, and negro stealing. 

To the plea which Gant made of his un- 
fitness to appear as counsel under all the 
circumstances of his peculiar situation, as 
well as the novelty of the trial, the -Lieu- 
tenant briefly answered — 

“You are Judge Advocate. What 
would you think, of being deprived of 
counsel yourself before the wars are 
over V’ 

This laconic, positive, and somewhat 
admonitory command had its full effect 
upon the determination of Gant, who 
manifested no farther opposition to the 
wishes of the Court. 

The President explained at considera- 
ble length the particulars of the charges 
brought against certain lawless men, or 
Tories, who had committed many unpro- 
voked aggressions upon the property and 
lives of tlie good citizens of the country. 
He dwelt with feeling and eloquence upon 


the treatment which defenceless widows 
and orphans had received in their persons 
and, property. He then called upon the 
prosecutor, and halving heard all the testi- 
mony against the above names. Captain 
Gant was called on for his defence. He 
felt it his duty to prosecute the affair with 
all his power, and fired by his own feelings, 
he denounced the proceedings at the Frog 
Ponds as harsh and oppressive ; as at war 
with the established laws of the civilized 
world ; as leading directly to the indul- 
gence of fraud and revenge ; and he earn- 
estly warned those having power in their 
hands, not to abuse it, or prostitute it to 
purposes of personal pique or individual 
revenge. 

“ Pass judgment on the prisoners !” said 
Coldfire; “for I think, Mr. President, we 
have had preaching and funeral service 
enough over such scoundrels.” 

The President, after summing up the 
evidence, gave the cases to the Court. 
They waited a few minutes, and brought 
in a unanimous verdict of guilty, and, in 
accordance with the judgment thus ren- 
dered — “ Jeremiah Hanks and James Joice 
were ordered to be hanged by the neck 
until they were dead, dead, dead !” 

“ It ’s a righteous sentence,” replied 
Coldfire, “and I am happy to state that 
the decision of the Court has already been 
anticipated. I am now ready for the line 
of march.” 

This great act of justice having been 
duly attended to, Coldfire began to ex- 
amine his company, and to arrange all 
matters for a hasty departure. 

Such were some of the circumstances 
which marked the progress of the brave 
and patriotic defenders of their country. 
Hemmed in by torch and halter, confisca- 
tion, pillage, and famine stared them in 
the face. No wonder, then, if some of 
them, learning lessons from their adver- 
saries, were not always allowed to pursue 
the more even and regular dictates of mili- 
tary propriety. Whilst we drop a tear 
over their errors, let us not forget that 
something must be conceded to the spirit 
of liberty — something to the times and cir- 
cumstances under which they had to act. 

Cato, who had been despatched by Ed- 
ward to notify his uncle of his situation, 
and to inform him of the late events, was 
brought into the camp by one of the senti- 
nels. He was immediately carried before 
the two officers ; his alarm, although great, 
was momentary, for Bucklebelt had heard 
so much of his faithfulness from Major 
Walden and Edward, that he treated him 


152 


ONSLOW, 


with kindness, and assured him of his 
safely. 

“ I am no king’s man, nor rebel neider. 
Captain Thunderbolt — I am only a poor 
colored slave, and am 6n my lawful be- 
havior and conduct,” said Cato, handing 
Captain Bucklebelt the letter with which 
he had been entrusted, adding, “ I believe 
Master Edward intended it in part for you, 
if my recollections don’t serve me amiss.” 

Captain Bucklebelt always went armed 
with a fire machine, for the purpose of 
lighting his pipe ; with this a light-wood 
torch was kindled, which enabled him to 
read the following letter : 

“ At Forest Hill. 

“ My Dear Uncle, 

“ Or Captain Bucklebelt — 

“ If Captain Theodoric Gant is in your 
hands, treat him as a gentleman. I am 
paroled. Get me exchanged in lieu of 
Gant. Perhaps Mr. O. and myself, as we 
are both privates, might be taken for Cap- 
tain G., who is a regular officer. I long to 
be in the field — more I need not say. 

“Yours, affectionately, 

“E. C.” 

Bucklebelt immediately consulted with 
Coldfire, who, after some little hesitation, 
agreed to the proposed arrangement. Cap- 
tain Gant readily consented to the exchange 
of Onslow and Conway, asking Bucklebelt 
or Coldfire to accompany him back to For- 
est Hill ; but they both declined, on the 
grounds that they were not disposed to fall 
in with the Bloody Scout single-handed, 
and, however they might be disposed to 
place confidence in the word of Captain 
Gant, they had no such faith in them. 

Bucklebelt suggested that if the ex- 
change were then made, it might here- 
after be alledged that Captain Gant acted 
under the command of his captors. To 
avoid any such suspicion, he proposed that 
it should be written out, after Gant had 
reached Forest Hill, thus leaving no 
grounds for the plea of coercion. 

Gant, well pleased with his kind treat- 
ment, took leave of his noble enemies, 
wishing them refreshing slumbers, and 
whole bones in their future campaigns. 
Cato was roused from a sound nap to re- 
trace the road he had come, making the 
sage remark to Captain Gant, that rides at 
unseasonable hours were always “ wery 
wearisome to man and beast.” 

Bucklebelt and Coldfire prepared to 
march with haste to join Gen. Sumpter. 
Whilst these small parties are pursuing 


their respective routes, Gen. Sumpter’s 
preparations and the party at Mr. Milli- 
gan’s may claim some attention in the 
next chapter. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow, 

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent. 

The smiles that win, the tints that glow, 

But tell of days in goodness spent. 

A mind at peace with all below, 

A heart whose love is innocent !— Byeon. 

The proclamation of the 3d of June, 
which annulled the paroles of all the inha- 
bitants of the State, compelled them to 
render in their allegiance to the royal 
government. The pains and penalties 
threatened against a noncompliance, with 
the terrible misrule of the Tories and their 
British allies, began to rouse a spirit of 
open discontent against the loyalists. Neu- 
trality proved an illusion ; all capable of 
bearing arms were to take sides tbr the 
support of the King’s authority against the 
country of their birth. Cornwallis, as a 
temporary expedient, had not on taking 
the command offered any harsh terms ; but 
in conjunction with his proclamations, he 
now set about establishing commercial re- 
gulations, and perfecting a system of police 
for the State. Recruiting officers were 
ordered to spread through the States of 
Carolina and Georgia. Thus busily em- 
ployed in leaving strong guards over his 
supposed conquest. Lord Cornwallis still 
kept up active preparations for the invasion 
of North Carolina, leaving Rawdon in com- 
mand of the main army. 

But Sumpter and his exiles came to revive 
the drooping spirits of their friends ; they 
proclaimed the motto, “ If we must fight, 
let it be on the side of America, our friends 
and our countrymen.” 

The reader recollects that Gen. Sumpter 
left Mr. Milligan’s to attack a body of the 
royal forces and militia of the country, with 
one hundred and thirty-three of his brave 
companions. The reader has witnessed the 
results of the two attacks, one led by Gen. 
Sumpter at Williamson’s plantation, and 
the other by Capt. Bucklebelt on Forest 
Hill. 

Julian, it will be recollected, owing to 
some scruples on the subject of his parole, 
was left at Mr. Milligan’s. His feelings 
are scarcely to be described; after all his 
hardships and narrow escapes, an outcast 
as it were upon the broad commons of the 
world ; poor and persecuted, to find that 


A TA.LE OP THE SOUTH. 


153 


there were some who cherished a regard for 
him ; to find that there was still one heart, 
so pure, so innocent, unalterable amidst all 
the vicissitudes to which it had been sub- 
jected — a strange feeling of remorse came 
over him. Did he meditate \he destruction 
of St. Ille'? She who had clung to him, 
without knowing his origin, his future pros- 
pects, beset as he was by fierce and impla- 
cable enemies 1 He determined not to in- 
volve her in the difficulties which so thickly 
menaced his path. 

Morning came, and with it cheerfulness 
and buoyancy. The gloom of the mind is 
wonderfully influenced by the glorious 
light of day. The storm-tossed mariner, 
the lost traveller, even the hypochondriac 
and the conscience-smitten criminal, writh- 
ing under the gorgon terrors of his guilty 
dreams, all feel its cheering influence. 
But there is a scene which is incompre- 
hensible ; it is to see death hover with its 
sable pall over the sweet rays of the morn- 
ing, when all nature is glittering and re- 
dolent of life and joy ; when every insect 
and blade of grass looks cheerful ; the blow 
of death at such an hour seems unnatural. 
To see the young, full of bright hopes, 
tasking the imagination to dispose of anti- 
cipated joys, suddenly cut down, withered 
in an hour — those who have realized such 
a misfortune know how fruitless the appeal 
to reason seems when the incongruity is 
attempted to be reconciled.” 

Mrs. Grayson had not recovered from the 
shock of her husband’s death; a settled 
melancholy had fastened on her mind, and 
the first impulse of her recovery was turned 
towards the happiness of her only daugh- 
ter — an only child. Who can realize the 
idolatry of a mother’s heart? Who can 
fathom the deep and silent waters of love 
which bury its treasure far below the 
mighty whirlwinds which pass over their 
agitated waves ! — those storms which tear 
the heart when the chill thought of death 
— of loss — of injury — penetrates its secret 
recesses ? None should ever desire an 
only child ! — a daughter ! — the gem is too 
precious, the chances of life too few. 
Painful solicitude and anxiety are the cer- 
tain inheritance of the possessor ! 

Mr. Milligan assembled the family to- 
gether before breakfast, as was his usual 
custom, to offer up his morning orisons to 
the Throne of Grace. The feelings of each 
seemed attuned to the occasion, and as the 
female voices, with the full one of Mr. Mil- 
ligan, joined in the hymn, unworthy sinner 
as Julian felt himself, yet a ray of devotion 
and hope passed over his mind, and he felt 


that he had abundant cause of thankfulness 
for the protection of Heaven. How near 
allied is a religious feeling to that of pure 
affection ! 

“ Love, religion, music, all 
That’s left of Heaven since the fall.” 

Julian had been invited by Mrs. Grayson 
to spend some time at her residence, but 
Mr. Milligan and family prevailed on his 
friends to remain a few days longer at his 
house. 

Amelia, ever buoyant, ever happy, seem- 
ed disappointed. So it is with the young 
heart when the first thoughts of affection 
begin to haunt it. She thought of Edward 
Conway; but Julian and St. Hie! Was 
their secret known? they cared not, they 
appeared to live for each other ! St. Ille 
was one of those rare combinations of fea- 
tures, of form, which never palls on the 
eye, like the cloudless sky of day or the 
sparkling one of night with its countless 
gems — you look and look and find new 
beauties. Her hair, with a little stretch of the 
imagination, might be compared to the regu- 
lar tresses of rain which fall from the dis- 
tant cloud, whilst the light of the sun which 
glimpses through it, may serve with which 
to compare her neck. Her eyes were full 
and quick, and of a dark brown. Her fore- 
head was neither too full nor too small ; 
the one might lead to the conclusion that 
there was too much speculation for the re- 
alities of life; the other, that there was too 
little for high intellectual achievements. 
There were no deviations in one feature at 
the expense of the others. When she 
smiled you wished that she would ever 
smile ; it was the blushing morn with all 
the glittering dews of the liveried night. 
But if she had any trait that particularly 
distinguished her, it was the tone and com- 
pass of her voice. The wave of her exqui- 
site hand, the electric glance of her eye, 
were lost in the maddening voice. You 
felt as if you had taken opium ! or felt sad 
as if the news of the death of a near rela- 
tion had just been communicated ! It was 
the magic of a dream with its abstraction 
from surrounding intrusions. There was 
no jar, no monotony in its tones, whether 
the whisper, the simple word, a song, or a 
mere tone. It was- the same indescribable 
harmonious combination. She was kind and 
bland in her manners, and no white cloud 
moved over the cerulean vault of heaven 
more gently on the soft wings of the breeze 
than did St. Ille before the eyes of her 
lover. Love and beauty are mysterious; 


154 


ONSLOW, 


they go like a beautiful day, so elegantly 
described by one of the older poets — 

“Sweet clay, so calm, so cool, so bright. 

The bridal of the earth and sky. 

Dew-drops will weep for thee to-night. 

For thou must die.” 

The happy and reconciled lovers talked 
over their impressions of first sight ; how 
each had despaired; how each had offered 
up prayers for the other ; how hard it was 
to have undergone all that they had — the 
future should never find them misapplying 
its precious moments in misunderstandings, 
which always cost the heart so much. 
They professed to be happy ; but there 
was still the dark impenetrable future ! the 
visible, thick, impenetrable future ! 

“Dearest Julian,” said St. Jlle, “al- 
though I am so happy I feel sad ; and a 
melancholy not hitherto felt seems to im- 
bue my feeling — why is it thusl” 

“ ’Tis ever thus, sweetest St. Ille ; the 
heart will have its mists and its clouds. I 
seem in an enchanted garden, an Eden 
whence some stern angel will expel me, 
happy as I am, and should be ; yet such 
are my apprehensions and fears. The hap- 
py moment which shall forever exclude 
such unwelcome thoughts; when I shall 
call thee my own dear St. Ille; will it 
come quickly, or are there to be interposed 
the liabilities which belong to delay T’ 

“ No, Julian, my mother loves you be- 
cause you are to be mine. Oh ! she is the 
kindest of mothers. We shall be so happy 
with her ! You must peril your life no 
more, and I shall never regret the hour 
when I can tell every one that you are 
mine — my own affectionate Julian ! I shall 
be so vain of you !” 

Julian’s heart smote him — he sighed ; 
a gloom covered his senses ; he felt the in- 
justice, nay the outrage, upon the confiding 
heart of his affianced and innocent St. Ille, 
to think of marrying her whilst the enigma 
of his birth was still unexplained ; whilst 
discord and war were in the land ; whilst 
its fierce fires were about to be relit ; and 
then his solemn pledge to the mineralogist. 

“ Ah ! St. Ille, my^ own dear angel, I 
must forego the pleasure of asking the con- 
sent of your mother until I stand before 
her prepared to prove myself not unworthy 
of the affection of her daughter ; and let 
me tell thee, dearest, I can never consent 
to be an idle spectator whilst the oppres- 
sors of my country are overrunning its soil 
and insulting its defenceless inhabitants; 
and you recollect the solemn injunctions of 
the mineralogist.” 

“ Then,” said St. Ille, bursting into tears. 


“ my worst fears are realized ; my appre- 
hensions are fulfilled. Oh ! Julian, I can 
never part with you again ; the dangers 
you have already encountered ; the pangs 
my heart has already undergone — even 
they unnerve me. You must not again 
peril your life, but live for the happiness 
of myself — for my mother — and I hope, Jhi- 
lian, for your own.” 

“Ob, my dearest St. Ille,” said Julian, 
clasping the hand so beautifully fair, which 
he held still closer and pressing it to his 
lips, “ be cheerful ; I feel that we shall be 
happy ; every impediment will but enhance 
our future bliss. Let me beseech you to 
banish your apprehensions. Let me kiss 
away those tears of purity and devotion ; 
their recollection will nerve my arm, and 
I will brave every danger, knowing that 
your love will make liberty worth enjoy- 
ing.” 

Brief moments of bliss ! they haunt the 
heart in after days, like the dreams of 
childhood. Their remembrance rises and 
glitters like the buoyant bubble on the dark 
stream; — they sink in life’s dark tide. The 
morning, the noon, the night passed unno- 
ticed amidst the delirious feelings of the 
lovers. They felt as if they had always 
been friends, — they were so easy in each 
other’s presence. All attentions to others 
become irksome; — love is instinctively self- 
fish and admits of no partition. 

Mrs. Grayson had been informed by her 
daughter, of the whole history of her affec- 
tion towards Julian ; and she had watched 
the silent sorrow, the stealthy tear, the fad- 
ed cheek of her daughter. Day by day, 
and hour by hour, she had gazed upon the 
object of her heart’s idolatry — upon those 
beautiful features; she felt now that she 
would never jeopard the bloom and the 
spirits again, which now added so much to 
the beauty and the brilliancy of her daugh- 
ter’s character ! But few can comprehend 
the feelings of the parent who have not re- 
alized them, when the thought of giving 
up the child, in marriage, with all its re- 
alities, rush upon the mind — the long form- 
ed habits and peculiarities of the child, to 
to be judged of, upon their abstract appear- 
ances to the eyes of one unacquainted with 
a thousand qualifying circumstances. It 
was, then, no little relief to the mind of 
Mrs. Grayson, to be informed by Julian, of 
his determination not to press for an imme- 
diate marriage. 

“No one, you must admit, should meet 
with my approbation as the husband of my 
daughter, unless he has her love and confi- 
dence ; unless he, too, shall return it fully ; 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


155 


for you, Mr. Onslow,” said Mrs. Grayson, 
“ I think I have that respect I should have 
for one whose claims I fully approve, and 
I confess that I have heard, with sincere 
pleasure, your determination not to involve 
yourselves in a situation of doubtful safety. 
So long as we are secluded, perhaps our 
weakness may be our protection ; yet un- 
derstand me, once known as the wife and 
mother-in-law of a bold and daring Whig, 
our new relations to you might invite ag- 
gression. Be to St. Ille as a brother, a 
protector, as her future husband ; but St. 
Ille’s wishes shall be mine.” 

Whether Julian’s love would have con- 
quered his forecast and resolution, was not 
left to him to determine; for hurrying 
events began to thicken. To rouse the 
country, a general feeling of inquietude and 
distrust was manifest — and Julian had to 
forego the sweet dalliance of love and ease 
for the perils of the camp ; but St. Ille con- 
soled herself that the time was far distant 
when they should be separated. Hope is 
the welcome minister to woman’s fears 
whenever love sways the heart. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

Sal. You know, or ought to know, enough of women. 
Since you have studied them so steadily, 

That what they ask in aught that touches on 
The heart, is dearer to their feelings, or 
Their fancy, than the whole external world. 

Sakdanapaxus. 

It was in vain, after Edward Conway had 
obtained the necessary exchange, for him- 
self and Julian, from Capt. Gant, that his 
mother and sister urged his further delay ; 
their entreaties and their tears were un- 
availing. 

“ I join in the first and the last battle 
which is fought for ray country.” 

Such were his words, as he snatched a 
kiss from each, and flung himself with buoy- 
ant spirits upon his bold charger, to join 
Bucklebelt ; waving his hand to Gant and 
the ladies, telling Felix that he was al- 
ready a prisoner, without the prospect of a 
release, he was soon out of sight. 

Oh, youth, full of anticipated bliss, of 
hope and glory ! ’tis well that the mind 
looks on high, and soars above the storms 
and darkness of earth. “ Ever onwards and 
upwards,” is the enlivening cry of the 
heart. ’Tis well, else the accumulation of 
disappointments and misfortunes would 
clog the mind, subdue the spirit, till bowed 
down and tamed, exertion would be loath- 
ed, and despair would hover over the ener- 


vated and spiritless frame, and man would 
be as a reptile that crawleth upon the 
earth. 

Col. Conway would not consent that 
all his guests should leave him. Independ- 
ent of his constitutional timidity, he found 
it necessary to propitiate the good graces 
of some of the loyalists, to guard against 
the apprehended ill-will of Claniiagan. — 
The late attack of the rebels left him no 
apprehension from that quarter ; for it was 
judged that so small a party would not im- 
mediately return after having thrown a fire- 
brand, calculated to rouse all the vigilance 
of their opponents. The feelings of Con- 
way, and the reasoning of his guest, pro- 
duced a delay of some days longer than 
was expected, in the departure of Not- 
wood’s party. The governess became ex- 
ceedingly well pleased with the elegant 
and fascinating Notwood, and he spared 
no pains to render her agreeable and hap- 
py. He urged Felix not to be precipitate 
with Diana ; to keep her in suspense, and 
to try his talents upon the governess. 

“ Bring back, Felix,” he said, “ the re- 
collections of by-gone hours ; vivify and re- 
people the imagination Avith the scenes of 
a score or two of past ydars. It suits well 
the learner of female character, to strike 
the different chords of the heart; and this 
ancient spinster will pretend herself your 
junior in years, and although I am the very 
last man in existence who would unneces- 
sarily wound the feelings of that class of 
persons called old maids, who, by-the- 
bye, should always be particularly regard- 
ed as objects of attention from all gentle- 
men, they are too often neglected ’and 
thrust aside as the appendages of some new 
married couple, or the nursery ; and made 
the special object of gossip, simply because 
tliey liave either had the fortitude not to 
close in with a bad match, or the misfor- 
tune of not being courted ; whilst too ma- 
ny, conscious of security, take advantage 
of their unprotected situation, to indulge 
in unmanly observation. But, my dear Fe- 
lix, Miss Peabody is an exception ; she has 
neither the temper nor worth to call for 
commiseration. So if you can learn any 
thing of human nature from her, as she is 
not likely to benefit the world otherwise, I 
hold you at liberty to please her and edify 
yourself.” 

Notwood knew how to manage young Ash- 
burn ; such observations were the mere aux- 
iliaries of deeper schemes. His heart and 
soul were devoted to Diana, and he flew 
instinctively to her side, to indulge in the 
glowing language which too often flows 


156 


ONSLOW, 


from the ardent devotion of misplaced af- 
fections, whilst the flattered and unsuspect- 
ing victim listens to the artful tale which 
melts into the heart, like the dews of night 
into the tender flower, to freeze and to de- 
stroy its sources of life. 

These constant attentions were observed 
by Mrs. Notwood. She became desponding 
and melancholy ; she marked his vacant 
air whenever he was absent from the com- 
pany of Diana; she determined to forbear 
the further annoyance of her husband, by 
not seeming to notice his conduct. Al- 
though she could master her words, yet she 
could not smother the deep agony and grief 
of her heart. Ah ! ’tis a fearful thing to 
palter with that homage of the heart, which 
is due a wife ; no after contrition can heal 
the self-inflicted and ever torturing wounds; 
no tears can wash out the deep marks which 
'guilt writes upon that of the offender. 

It was under a state of feeling similar 
to the one noticed, that Mrs. Notwood re- 
tired to her room, whilst at her uncle’s ; 
she had taken her children with her, and 
was attempting to teach them their cate- 
chism ; but her feelings wandered from the 
task, and she involuntarily thought, as she 
looked on the beautiful children, busily en- 
gaged in their duty, “ Could not you, my 
dear little ones, interest him '1 If he does 
not respect his own dignity, my own rights, 
can he forget those of his innocent and de- 
fenceless children! Is it my fault that his 
smile is as the chill reflection of the sun- 
shine from the hard marble or the ice ! — 
his eyes so full of light and fire are dull — 
my wit is folly ; my reflections^annoy him. 
Alas ! my sweet children,” she thought, 
bursting into tears, “ he is proof against 
your guardianship over his conduct, (that 
best of barriers, to the evil actions of a fa- 
ther and a husband, the fear of setting a 
bad example before a wife or children,) 
even you have lost, like me, your control ! 
May Heaven, in its mercy, protect us !” 

Diana, who really loved Mrs. Notwood, 
and who was unconscious of her feelings, 
in stepping into her room, found her in 
tears. 

“ Is there aught the matter with you, my 
dearest Mrs. Notwood, speak, let me know 
it V’ exclaimed Diana. 

Mrs. Notwood assumed a cheerful air, 
replying that most mothers, when they 
look upon their children, felt that they had 
many perils to encounter, “ then, if I am 
not able to restrain my feelings, it should 
cause you no surprise !” 

Diana, without waiting for a reply, ran 
to seek Major Notwood. 


“ What do you think, Major Notwood !” 
asked Diana, when she found him, “ I have 
just surprised Mrs. Notwood in tears; do 
go to her.” 

“ Oh, I reckon,” answered Notwood, care- 
lessly, “ she was reading -some love tale, 
some shipwreck, or pathetic piece of po- 
etry.” 

“ Not so,” replied Diana, “ more solemn, 
more worthy of your serious consideration.” 

“In truth,” replied Notwood, turning 
pale, has, she had the impudence to upbraid 
you with my innocent attentions towards 
yourself! Has she accused me of having 
too much affection for you, my dearest Di- 
ana !” He seized her hand, and attempted 
to kiss it. Diana repelled it with scorn, 
saying — 

“ Major Notwood, this in sport, at any 
other time, or occasion, might have been 
considered a mere passing privilege of an 
idle and sportive friend, such as you have 
heretofore taken, but now, sir, the act is of- 
fensive. Your last words have opened my 
eyes ; I begin to fear that I have been the 
unconscious cause of many pangs of wo 
to your excellent lady. Oh ! I could weep ; 

I could fall on my knees to her, if in a 
heedless moment I have allowed any ac- 
tion or word of mine to cause her a mo- 
ment’s uneasiness. I command you, now 
and forever, to desist from all undue privi- 
leges. I have suffered them simply from 
the fear of giving offence to you and your 
lady. I have resolved often to beseech you 
to respect my rights, but was restrained 
from a timidity which has caused me great 
injustice in her eyes. I will fly to her,” 
said Diana, weeping, “ I will tell her that I 
have found out the cause of her melancholy, 
and that henceforth and forever I leave 
your company.” 

“ Oh ! for God’s sake, Diana, don ’t raise 
such a suspicion in the innocent and unsus- 
pecting bosom of my wife. I was in jest, 
and beg ten thousand pardons, if I have 
wronged you at any time. I swear to be 
more circumspect ; but Clara ever loves to 
indulge in such reveries ; it is constitution- 
al with her.” 

“ You know the conditions, then,” re- 
plied Diana, as she was about to retire to 
her room, to give vent to her tears ; for 
she was now convinced that she was in 
some way connected with the despondency 
of Mrs. Notwood. 

“ I shall be miserable, Diana,” said Not- 
wood, attempting to pacify her feelings, as 
she started ; “ h.ow can I forego the plea- 
sure of your sparkling wit, your varied ac- 
complishments!” 


A TALE OP THE SOUTH. 


157 


“ You know the conditions,” reiterated 
Diana, firmly. “You break off all imperti- 
nent privileges, and henceforth respect my 
rights.” 

Miss Peabody overheard the above con- 
versation ; she flew to Mrs. Notwood and 
artfully condoled with her. She fanned 
the flame of jealousy, and railed with be- 
coming severity and gravity upon the im- 
pudence and imprudence of the practiced 
flirt, full of giddy follies and levity. This 
vigilant lady followed up the blow, by mak- 
ing her discoveries known to Mrs. Conway, 
and ifi due time threw herself by the side 
of Felix, to inform him that he was honor- 
ed with a rival for the affections of Miss 
Dashwood, in the person of his friend, Maj. 
Notwood. 

But it is useless to detail the observa- 
tions of all, upon such a prolific subject. 
Notwood soon satisfied Felix that the spin- 
ster, as he called the governess, was only 
vexed, because she was not the object of 
attention from each of them. 

Dr. Cain proposed a walk in the garden 
with the ladies, an evening or two after 
Miss Peabody’s disclosure. He succeeded 
in arranging the walk with himself and the 
governess, whilst Gant fortunately obtain- 
ed the arm of Cathena. The others were 
not in a mood, or it was not convenient for 
them to join the Doctor’s party. There 
was some timidity observable in the appear- 
ance of the worthy gentleman, by the side 
of Cathena ; he exerted himself to he 
pleasant. Gradually, the coyness and re- 
straint of Cathena were lost in her atten- 
tion to the vivid and interesting descriptions 
which he gave of his native Island, — its 
churches and splendid edifices, — its paint- 
ings, and glowing with his subject, he spoke 
of her statesmen and her poets. The con- 
versation changed to the arbor and plan of 
the garden ; and Cathena listened with in- 
terest to his judicious observations ; he even 
praised some of the arrangements which 
had been the particular work of Cathena, 
without knowing that her delicate hands 
and fine taste had contributed to the beauty 
which was the subject of his commenda- 
tions. 

But Cathena was conscious that the re- 
fusal of the others to join them, and the 
manner of Gant, were indicative of his inten- 
tions ; her heart beat tumultuously, at the 
idea, and her hand trembled. She feared 
no one, yet she dreaded that any one should 
surmise such an event; but the worthy 
doctor fortunately relieved her embarrass- 
ment by exclaiming aloud — 

“ I do admire the taste of Miss Peabody, 


in the scientific arrangement of this gar- 
den, and, sir, I think we might almost give 
up the profession of arms and chirurgy, to 
study horticulture unde# the guidance of 
such accomplished companions.” 

“ You are too much of a flatterer. Doc- 
tor,” replied Miss Peabody, “gentlemen 
are always ready to flatter the young. Ca- 
thena, remember what I say.” 

The two parties separated, and Capt. 
Gant, in a faltering voice, said to Cathena, 

“ I have a request to make of you.” 

“ What is it I” asked Cathena blushing, 
and attempting to show as little trepidation 
as the serious countenance and hesitating 
voice of her companion would justify. 

“ Oh it is only a trifle, a mere keep-sake, 
one which, although you may not deem 
valuable, yet I highly prize — it is a lock of 
your hair.” 

“ Really, sir, it is not worth the clipping 
or the keeping,” replied Cathena. 

Gant was embarrassed — the absolute in- 
difference of the answer provoked him. 
She was extremely willing, or it was an 
attempt to divert his mind from the prose- 
cution of his suit. 

“ I am under infinite obligations,” said 
he, “and hope that I shall not be consid- 
ered impertinent, if I prefer another re- 
quest.” 

His frame shook whilst he paused for an 
answer; he looked at Cathena; she had 
disengaged her arm, and was standing ap- 
parently engaged with a bunch of nearly 
ripe grapes, attempting to place them and 
their tendrils to the frame-work. She 
seemed ready to give him a respectful 
hearing ; she was barely sixteen — her fea- 
tures were slightly flushed — the eye 
seemed half inclined to smile, yet thought- 
fulness was depicted on the countenance. 
He hesitated, and stammered out, at 
length — 

“ It is to request you not to marry until 
you have heard how the wars have termi- 
nated, and how your devoted admirer has 
borne himself through them.” 

“ But suppose they are to last as long as 
the seige of Troy, or the sacred wars. I 
should be numbered on the list of old 
maids.” 

“ Then,” said Gant, “ if you have such a 
repugnance to long suits and sieges, I an- 
nounce myself now as a suitor for your 
hand and heart.” 

“ Oh ! you mistake me. Captain Gant — 
I am not anxious to be the lady-love of any 
modern knight, however honored I might 
be by looking to you for the settlement 
of all my quarrels. Look !” continued Ca- 


158 


ONSLOW, 


tliena, changing her tone to that of admira- 
tion, “ at the exquisite gallantry of your 
protector of health and sound limbs ; he 
makes love in thqj^ost approved style of a 
violent siege. — no waiting for the wars to 
end — no begging of trifling keepsakes — 
no tourney nor tilt for the trial of right — 
a gentleman of the good old school.” 

The cause of these remarks was easily 
seen. Docter Cain was sauntering up and 
down, with the stately figure of Miss Pea- 
body oh his arm, whilst he occasionally 
clasped her hand in his, and was quoting 
poetry, and descanting on love at first 
sight, so loud as to be heard half across 
the garden. 

“ But you are trifling with a very seri- 
ous subject to my feelings, Miss Conway; 
you must excuse me if I have not followed 
the precise routine which your fancy or 
good sense may have ascertained or con- 
ceived ; flatly and plainly, I love and ad- 
mire you, and having done your charms and 
acquirements, as well as my feelings, jus- 
tice in this declaration, I have only to re- 
quest a positive and equally as frank an 
answer.” 

Cathena became serious — a tear brightly 
contrasted wflth her countenance ; she hesi- 
tated for a moment, and then said — 

“ No one, sir, can be more sensible of 
the undeserved honor which you have just 
offered me, for which I shall ever feel 
grateful. Forgive my apparent levity — it 
was unintentional. I have not the least 
objection to give you a final answer — it is 
the best for each of us. That I admire and 
respect you I will not deny — but I most re- 
spectfully decline the honor which you pro- 
pose to confer.” 

Cathena burst into tears and ran through 
the avenue of vines towards the house. 
The rejected lover stood petrified — he 
whistled, he laughed, he cried, he pulled 
the unripe grapes, and ate unconsciously 
for a moment. 

“ Rejected !” he exclaimed — “ routed ! 
horse, foot, and dragoons! Rejected! dis- 
carded ! ha ! ha !” 

“ What, discarded 1” exclaimed Miss 
Peabody, whose quick eyes and ears were 
near enough to see and hear Gant’s ges- 
tures and words, 

“ What,” said Doctor Cain, “ repulsed. 
Captain, by a young girl of the interior 1 
What ! one of his majesty’s regular and 
scientific officers, unable to carry the as- 
sault! Shame on you. Captain, you are 
too modest. You do not pour the torrent 
of love in a cataract, as I do. Why, sir, 
you ought to have heard me discoursing to 


this lady — be of good heart, sir, the great 
master of the human heart has said — 

‘ She is a woman, therefore to be wooed — 

She is a woman, therefore to be won.^ 

Why, Miss Peabody could no more with- 
stand my efforts, had I a mind to marry 
one of the revolted daughters of his majes- 
ties revolted colonies, than you could the 
opportunity of entering into a regular en- 
gagement when offered you.” 

“Sir,” said Miss Peabody, scornfully, 
disengaging her hand from the Doctor’s 
arm, and shoving him sprawling on the 
ground, “ I reject your offer, and detest 
your person.” 

Gant, who had time to reflect and re- 
cover himself from his embarrassment, im- 
mediately offered his arm to the enraged 
governess, who fumed and foamed at the 
great impertinence of the low, ill-bred prac- 
titioner of physic. 

Doctor Cain, however severely mortified, 
attempted to put the best possible face upon 
his disaster, by brushing off* the dust, and 
repairing to the room of his less belligerent 
patient, cursing occasionally his ill-luck, in 
the ill-educated tempers of the daughters 
of his majesty’s revolted coldnies. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

In a cause like this the husbandman would change 
his ploughing-irons 

To weapons of defence, and leave the earth 
Untilled, although a general dearth should follow ; 
The student would forswear his book, the lawyer 
Put oif his thriving gown, and without pay 
Conclude his cause is to be fought, not pleaded. 

The women will turn amazons. 

And boys write down their names 
In the muster-book for soldiers. 

Thk Bashful Lover. 

The brilliant affair of General Sumpter, 
at Williamson’s plantation, and the late 
attack upon the dining-party and the Tories 
at Forest Hill, spread like a flame at night. 
The Whigs were inspirited — and in one 
instance, the militia recruited by an officer, 
(Lieut. Col. Lyle, who had exchanged his 
parole, in consequence of Clinton’s pro- 
clamation for a certificate of being a liege 
subject,) were led by him to the frontiers, 
to join the army advancing under Gates. 

The Game-Cock of the South, or more 
classically, the Ajax of South Carolina, 
Brigadier General Sumpter, commenced 
his regular inroads upon the British terri- 
tory, by assaulting, on the first of August, 
the post of Rocky Mount. 


A TALE OP THE SOUTH. 


159 


Just before the attack he was recon- 
noitering the station of Rocky Mount, 
which was fixed on the comb of a lofty 
eminence, encircled by open wood, when 
a company of well mounted men rode 
rather briskly towards him. 

“Is that my old friend Bucklebeltl” 
asked General Sumpter of Col. Lacy, who 
was near him. 

“ Yes,” replied the Colonel, “ and Major 
Walden, at the head of his small batta- 
lion.” 

“ Ay, Major Walden — I have often 
heard of him — a man of intrepidity and 
firmness.” 

I come. General Sumpter,” said Major 
Walden, after his introduction by Colonel 
Lacy to the commander, “ at the summons 
of my country. I am ready for battle. 
Assign me my proper station. Militia 
we are — but we mean to do our duty.” 

“ My young friend, I am glad to see 
you,” said the General to Edward, taken 
prisoner, exchanged, and now ready for 
the conflict. “ \Vhere is our friend Ons- 
low 1 has he left the enchanting circle at 
Air. Alilligan’s'?” 

“ He and Bucklebelt,” replied Edward, 
“are ready for the word of onset.” 

“ All ’s right !” exclaimed the gallant 
and undaunted Brigadier. “ You must act 
as my aid to-day. Major Walden’s batta- 
lion will join Colonel Lacy, whilst Alajor 
Davie retains Bucklebelt’s cavalry as a re- 
serve.” 

“Sir,” replied Major Walden, “although 
I most cordially thank you for the honor 
conferred, yet I cannot well consent to al- 
low my nephew to leave my side — on no 
other conditions did I consent to his deter- 
mination, since his late capture, to join the 
army.” 

“ Be it so,” replied the commander. 
“Edward will then request Capt. Buckle- 
belt to send me Julian Onslow.” 

The order was quickly obeyed, whilst 
Alajor Walden muttered out, as he depart- 
ed to assume his appointed position — 

“ I wish I had not refused to allow Ed- 
ward to accept the appointment, for that 
impudent puppy is to be promoted. But 
my nephew is. headstrong, and Sumpter 
would lead him to the devil. It is too 
much for such a gallant soldier to be im- 
posed on by such a knave.” 

Julian obeyed the summons. He rode 
up on the charger furnished him by Airs. 
Grayson. 

“ You will act as my aid,” said the com- 
mander, after the usual salutation, “ and I 
am happy that you have had the good for- 


tune to be so soon gratified in being re- 
leased from all compunctions on the course 
you should pursue.” 

Julian thanked him for his confidence, 
and declared his readiness to obey any 
commands that he might issue. 

Colonel Lacy, Erwine and Neal were to 
attack Rocky Alount, whilst Alajor Davie, 
a part of the Mecklenburg militia, under 
Colonel Heaggins and Captain Bucklebelt, 
marched to the post of Hanging Rock, 
situated on the east side of the Catawba 
river, within twenty-four miles of Camden, 
and twelve from the place about to be at- 
tacked. 

The position of Rocky Alount was ex- 
ceedingly well guarded, and the brave, 
commander of the assailants, after three 
terrible assaults, was compelled to with- 
draw his forces for the want of battering 
rams, with the loss of the brave Neal, and 
several men. 

Alajor Davie and his associates were 
more successful, for in their march towards 
the garrison of Hanging Rock, they fell in 
with three companies of Bryan’s loyalists. 
Eluding their sentinels. Captain Bucklebelt 
placed his company of cavalry so as to pre- 
vent their escape. They were all, except 
a few, killed and wounded, and the spoils 
of victory, consisting of sixty horses, with 
their trappings, and one hundred muskets 
and rifles, safely brought off. 

After this affair, the Brigadier and his 
comrades retired to their frontier position 
on the Catawba, keeping out scouting par- 
ties, to guard the unprotected families then 
within reach of the enemy. 

“ These marches,” says an eminent eye- 
witness, “ were long and toilsome ; seldom 
feeding more than 'once a day, their com- 
bats and habits were like those of the Par- 
thians, sudden and fierce ; their decisions 
speedy, and all subsequent measures equal- 
ly prompt.” 

The intrepid nature of Sumpter was 
averse to repose. He rested long enough 
to throw his enemies off their guard, when 
he fell on the post of Hanging Rock, which 
had previously escaped through the disaster 
of Bryan’s forces — Major Carden, with five 
hundred men, consisting of a portion of 
Tarleton’s infantry, a part of Col. Brown’s 
regiment, and a portion of the corps of 
Bryan, (which had a few days before been 
so successfully cut up,) prepared to oppose 
him. The battle was easy until he fell on 
Brown’s detachment — here he was re- 
ceived upon the point of the bayonet. 

Bucklebelt’s small company of dragoons 
behaved valiantly, and the intrepid Major 


160 


ONSLOW, 


Walden urged on his comrades, who, for 
raw militia, stood the bayonet equal to dis- 
ciplined regulars. A portion of loyalists 
thus warmly pressed, finally retreated, and 
took shelter under the British infantry, 
formed in a hollow square, supported by 
two pieces of artillery. Unfortunately for 
Major Walden, a portion of his regiment, 
flushed with their success, fell in with the 
spoils of the camp, consisting of spirits, to- 
bacco, molasses, &c. The usual attraction 
of the first named article had its full influ- 
ence. Their minds became bewildered, 
and they showed great reluctance to re- 
new the charge. Edward Conway, burn- 
ing with the prospect of victory, rallied 
them, now joined % others from different 
companies, and was in the act of success- 
fully charging a portion of the enemy, 
when his comrades showed signs of dis- 
order, calling for Major Walden and Gen. 
Sumpter. Enraged with his ill fortune, 
Edward rushed forwards to the side of 
Coldfire, who was charging the enemy up 
to their bayonets. 

“ Shoulder to shoulder, Lieutenant Cold- 
fire — let us take Captain Gant prisoner.” 

“ Agreed,” was the reply. 

Captain Gant had been detached to the 
assistance of this post, and Edward, upon 
recognizing him, formed the romantic idea 
of retaliating upon his opponents by mak- 
ing him his prisoner. 

The intrepid Briton met his antagonist 
coolly, for Edward was so anxious to ac- 
complish his design that he flung himself 
from his charger, and closed in with him 
sword in hand, foot to foot — the contest be- 
tween the two young soldiers was well 
kept up. 

“Yield, Captain Gant! I owe you no 
private pique, but I will make you my pri- 
soner, or die in the attempt.” 

“ Be not so rash ! Desist — escape from 
your dangerous position. I am not ambi- 
tious of making you a prisoner, but equally 
as determined to hold you in check.” 

This advice to Edward was unheeded, 
and he persisted so resolutely in his de- 
sign as to attract the attention of the quick 
and malignant eye of Clannagan, who, with 
a portion of Bryan’s loyalists, kept up a 
desperate and irregular struggle, the main 
body of his friends having retreated. Just 
as he formed the wicked purpose of glut- 
ting his revenge, Julian, who was hovering 
on the verge of the foremost assailants, 
seeing his horse, (noted at all times from 
his great power and sable color,) dashed 
furiously by Bucklebelt and Walden, who, 
covered with' blood and dust, maintained 


near Coldfire a desperate struggle against 
Brown’s detachment, supported by their 
strong position and artillery. Julian, un- 
conscious of the design of Clannagan, was 
anxious to measure swords with his im- 
placable foe. Keeping his eye on his ene- 
my, he urged his charger into the group 
of desperate combatants. He was barely 
in time to shiver the sword of Clannagan, 
uplifted to fall on the unconscious head of 
Edward, who, wounded by Gant, fought 
with the fury of a lion. Julian, seeing the 
blood issuing from Edward’s wound, leaped 
to his side. Fortunately, at this instant, 
the enemy, after having maintained a dead- 
ly fight, gave way, and Julian bore Ed- 
ward nearly exhausted to a situation where 
he would not be liable to be overtrod. 

But the battle drew to a close. The 
loss of the enemy was terrible, falling as it 
did so heavily on some of their best offi- 
cers.* Amongst the slain was Captain 
MacColloch, who commanded the Legion 
Infantry, and Brown’s intrepid band lost 
several officers and men. 

General Sumpter was more fortunate, 
although he had to regret the loss of Capt. 
McClure, a brave and active soldier ; be- 
sides the loss of several men. Many of his 
officers and soldiers were severely wounded. 
Nothing but the allurements of the camp, 
and the unfortunate intoxication of his sol- 
diers, many of whom were unsuited for ac- 
tion, prevented General Sumpter and his 
brave comrades from reaping a signal vic- 
tory — once completely within his grasp, and 
due to the zeal, perseverance and gallantry 
of himself and officers. Checked, but not 
dismayed — disappointed, but not discour- 
aged, he sought his remote asylum to re- 
cruit his men, and repair his munitions of 
war, ready to fall on the enemy whenever 
and wherever to be found. 

Many of those who had, on the spur of 
the moment, joined General Sumpter, find- 
ing him disposed to retire for awhile from 
active strife, returned home. Amongst 
this number were Major Walden, Buckle- 
belt, and several of their command. These 
skirmishes and severe battles were but 
those of the vanguard, it was said, to the 
army of General Gates, which was advanc- 
ing, and ready to enter the State, so long 
under the domination of the enemy. 

Julian, after ascertaining that Edward 
Conway’s wounds, though severe, were 
not considered mortal, took an affectionate 
leave of his friend, telling him that in a 

* Lee’s Memoirs. 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


161 


few days he would attempt to meet him at 
Mrs. Grayson’s. 

Of the sweeping disasters which befell 
the army under General Gates, of the 
buoyant expectations utterly turned into 
bitterness and wo, of the bravery rendered 
unavailing by culpable mismanagement, a 
passing notice can only be indulged. 

Suffice it to say, no sooner had the in- 
vading army approached near the scene of 
action, than all who were able to return to 
active service, again buckled on their 
armor. 

Julian, Bucklebelt and Coldfire found 
that General Sumpter was again ready 
for the field — taking but a short respite 
from the toils of the camp, they panted for 
battle. 

General Gates, flushed with his northern 
victories, became impatient to measure 
swords with his opponent; urged, too, by 
some of his officers, he allowed rashness to 
rule the hour. Instead of holding his strong 
position on Lynche’s Creek, ready to fall 
back on the strong counties of Cabarras, 
Rowan, and Mecklenburg, contiguous as 
they were to the western borders over the 
mountains, where lived the hardy moun- 
taineers, equally attached to liberty, and 
who, when roused, rolled like their own 
headlong torrents on the hostile territory, 
he determined to attack the enemy. Too 
confident of victory. Gates weakened his 
forces by detaching a portion of them to 
join General Sumpter whilst in striking 
distance of his foe, headed by that wary 
and skillful young officer. Lord Rawdon, 
vainly expecting that he would be able to 
drive him froiifc Camden. 

The insurrection of the inhabitants on 
Black Creek, under General Marion, forced 
Lord Cornwallis to risk every thing on the 
issue of a battle. He marched to the re- 
lief of Lord Rawdon. He saw the immi- 
nent danger of his cause. The Proclama- 
tions of General Gates, the dissatisfaction 
of the inhabitants, and the numbers flock- 
ing to his standard, would have caused a 
commander less ready than Cornwallis to 
appeal to the sword, and to carve his way 
through dangers, (a mode of relief from 
embarrassments to which his lordship was 
peculiarly attached,) to have retreated — 
but he relied on his regulars — he sought 
his enemy with avidity, and the tragedy of 
the 16th of August will ever stand as a 
monument of the folly of trusting to num- 
bers against discipline and skill. 

The brave Baron He Kalb died as he had 
lived, calm and undaunted, pouring out his 


blood for the cause so near his affections. 
But the struggles of the most resolute were 
unable to withstand the advantages gained 
from the experience and order of the 
British. 

“ What government,” exclaims Colonel 
Lee, whose pen, like his sword, has con- 
tributed so much to the glory of his coun- 
try, “ is justifiable in sending its soldiers 
uninformed and untaught in battle, where 
they are to meet old and disciplined troops 
mechanized to order and hardships'?” 

General Sumpter, who had undertaken 
to intercept a detachment of the enemy 
from Ninety- Six, succeeded completely in 
his enterprise. But a new scheme was 
laid for his destruction. Lord Cornwallis 
had seen enough of the three Brigadiers, 
Marion, Pickens, and Sumpter, to know 
that so long as they maintained their forces, 
or could sally forth from their hiding-places, 
his victories would avail but little, and 
that the people, inspirited by such experi- 
enced and skillful commanders, would 
never submit. He, therefore, despatched 
two active officers in pursuit on different 
routes, to overtake and cut up the force un- 
der Sumpter. 

It was the immortal Davie, panting to 
join General Gates, who met Col. Huger, 
wearied and on foot, driving his tired horse. 
He learned the disastrous defeat of the 
American army — the danger of his friend 
Sumpter was too evident, and without de- 
lay he despatched Captain Martin and two 
dragoons to warn him of his situation, and 
to repair to Charlotte. Turnbull, one of 
the pursuing enemy, was evaded ; but that 
swift moving officer, Col. Tarleton, crossed 
the Wateree, and came up with the Ameri- 
can officer on the I8th, and passing the 
Catawba at the Rocky Mount ford, he got 
into Sumpter’s rear. Partial resistance 
was made by those who, wearied and in 
the belief of security, were not prepared 
for such a vigorous and unexpected assault. 
Consternation and utter dismay seized the 
followers of Sumpter ; universal flight was 
the result. Julian, Coldfire, and the in- 
trepid Bucklebelt, along with three hun- 
dred and fifty, escaped, leaving the enemy 
in possession of two brass pieces of artil- 
lery, arms and baggage ; who likewise re- 
covered their lost wagons, stores, and pri- 
soners. 

Thus ended the catastrophe of the 18th, 
in quick succession to the bloody tragedy 
of the 16th, leaving the South without an 
army, to a victorious and relentless enemy. 


162 


ONSLOW, 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

Speak thy resolves, if now tliy courage droop, 

Despair iu prison, and abandon hope. 

Cymon and Iphigenia. 

When Georgia fell, and South Carolina 
was given up, they were called the two 
lost States. Amongst the most prominent 
of the exiles who left the former State, and 
fled to their friends in the West, was Col. 
Elijah Clark — vigilant, and burning against 
the atrocities of the British Tories, and 
their savage allies, the Indians, he em- 
ployed his time and mind to devise means 
to redress the injuries done his country- 
men. The arrival of the annual presents 
for the Indians, with the unconquerable 
desire to recover Augusta, a wish always 
ascendant in his ardent bosom, afforded a 
suitable opportunity for the exercise of all 
his military skill. 

After he had planted log forts, and esta- 
blished a constant intercourse with his 
friends, he called forth his comrades, urg’- 
ing every reason, and finally appealed to 
their revengeful feelings, showing them at 
the same time the rich harvest in store for 
their gallantry, as well as the necessity of 
preventing these stores from inflaming the 
Indians against the whole up-country. 
His appeal was listened to, and the army 
of the hills shouted for battle ; their wal- 
lets were filled with provisions, the guns 
cleaned, bullets moulded, and a scanty sup- 
ply of powder was distributed out of their 
ill supplied magazine. Thus unencumbered 
and alert, their effective capacity was in- 
creased ; a few hours, and they were ready. 
“The grass of nature subsisted their horses, 
the forest their canopy.” 

Augusta was held by Lieut. T. Brown, 
and Ninety-Six by Col. Cruger. The first 
soon took the alarm, and made preparations 
to repel his gallant opponent. He was 
vigorously attacked by Clark at the head 
of seven hundred men. But Brown, under 
cover of his artillery, and at the point of 
the bayonet, forced his way to Garden 
Hill, where he fortified himself, waiting 
for recruits from Cruger. Four days did 
Brown and his men suffer for the want of 
water; and, though wounded, he, at the 
head of his men, courageously supported 
himself against the vigorous assaults of 
Clark and his associates. The latter had 
the mortification to give up his inevitable 
victory, by seeing Cruger and Clannagan 
with his band of loyalists, on the opposite 
shore. He immediately withdrew, leaving 


his captured artillery, and all the evidences 
of his well laid schemes, to his enemies. 

Ferguson, an ever watchful and promi- 
nent loyalist, by the orders of Cornwallis, 
pursued a route to King’s Mountain, to cut 
off Clark and his army. A numerous as- 
sembly were panting to join Colonel Clark, 
and were in m.otion under Colonels Camp- 
bell, Cleaveland, Williams, Sevier, and 
Shelby. They wore on their hats green 
twigs, as. emblematic of their devotion to 
their forests. These hardy mountaineers 
fell in with their enemies at King’s Moun- 
tain. The battle raged for fifty minutes, 
Ferguson confiding in the bayonet, and the 
Americans in the deadly rifle. This hard 
fought battle was decisive ; and although 
Clark failed at Augusta, yet his attempt on 
that place led to the destruction of Fergu- 
son, and with it the present relief of North 
Carolina. 

This overthrow had a wonderful effect. 
It showed new and unsuspected resources 
in the country — pointed out the yeomanry 
of the country, when roused, as quick and 
terrible in their plans and executions. 

The fate of Ferguson caused the British 
army to retreat back to South Carolina. 
The sickly season set in, and Lord Corn- 
wallis surrendered the command, (being 
sick,) to Lord Rawdon. 

It was now that the royal militia was of 
infinite service to their allies. Inured to 
the climate, they acted as guides ; mount- 
ed on horses they scoured the country, 
brought in cattle, gathered information, 
and laid the groundwork of most of the dis- 
asters of the times. Cornwallis settled his 
position at Winnsborough, in*order to shield 
Camden and Ninety-Six. 

Marion and Sumpter were ever vigilant. 
The first, on the east of the Santee ; whilst 
Sumpter hovered on the west. He had the 
mountainous regions to draw on for assist- 
ance ; his good fortune prevailed over the 
wiles of the enemy ; he effectually chas- 
tised Major Wemys and the intrepid Tarle- 
ton in two conflicts at Blackstock Hill, on 
the eastern bank of the Tyger River. 
Tarleton left his wounded and dead to 
his conqueror. 

Unfortunately, a grievous wound pre- 
vented Sumpter from improving his success, 
and detained him long from the field. But 
Pickens, Clark and Hardon still continued 
their exertions, which, if not sufficient to 
drive their enemies from the field, had the 
beneficial effect of holding them in check, 
and keeping their friends in countenance.' 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


163 


CHAPTER XL. ' 

Tliere saw I first the dark imagining 
Of f/clony, and all the compassing ; 

The cruel ire, as red as burning coal. 

The smiler, with the knife under the cloak. 

Thuklow. 

About this time, in some parts of the 
State, the second reign of terror again 
commenced. Commissioners were ap- 
pointed to take possession of the estates 
of all who had not complied with the re- 
quisitions of Lord Cornwallis. A bare 
support was allowed the women and chil- 
dren ; the balance was directed to be paid 
over to the pay-master of the royal forces. 
Death again was denounced against all 
persons who, having received protections, 
should be found in arms against the king’s 
troops. Letters were forged, or pretended 
to have been taken from the pockets of many 
of the killed, and brought forward afterwards 
to implicate the living, as having instigated 
them to rebellion, and to act incompatibly 
with their paroles and protection. But 
such communications were never proved 
upon the living. 

It was at this period that the ever me- 
morable outrage was committed on many 
of the most virtuous and honorable citizens 
of tbe State, in sending them to St. Au- 
gustine, a prey to hardships and disease. 

These were the times propitious for the 
display of the deep and flagitious powers of 
intrigue, which were so congenial to the 
mind of Notwood. Privy to, and interest- 
ed as he was in the sequestration of es- 
tates, he formed the bold design of possess- 
ing himself of those of Major Walden, and 
several of the wealthy, who had not ren- 
dered themselves liable from overt acts 
against the king or his authority. Some of 
the arts with which he managed to gain 
the ascendancy over Gant and Felix Ash- 
burn, have already been seen ; and his 
mercenary propensities were ever ready to 
minister to the dark and malicious feel- 
ings of Clannagan. This wily manager 
determined to involve Julian and Edward 
in his scheme of ruin. After the discom- 
fiture at Colonel Conway’s, he had an ex- 
cuse to push his fortunes, with the aid of 
Clannagan, to their consummation. Clan- 
nagan, it will be recollected, had seized 
the mineralogist, and had lodged him in 
jail at Ninety-Six, for the purpose of co- 
ercing him to second his designs against 
Major Walden and Julian. 

Clannagan had been too actively engaged 
as a partisan to put his private plans of 


malice into full operation, and Notwood, 
holding as he did a middle ground between 
the better order of society and the common 
royalists, had found it necessary to keep up 
some appearances of honesty in the eyes of 
the natives, and the more honest portion of 
British officers. But no sooner had Gates 
been defeated, and Sumpter retired in con- 
sequence of his wound, (the fear of sum- 
mary castigation being thus removed,) than 
did these associates in infamy set about 
their long cherished schemes of plunder 
and malice. One of the terms of coalition 
was that Julian and Edward should be 
placed in the hands of Clannagan, and 
Capt. Gant was to be made the instrument 
by which the latter should be ensnared. 

Gant, after he had wounded Edward, 
fearing that it might endanger his success 
at Forest Hill, (for his rejection there had 
only stimulated his affections towards Ca- 
thena,) repaired to Notwood for consolation 
and advice, hence the deep designs of Not- 
wood were easily laid. 

“Ay, sir,” said Notwood, “you are a 
rare specimen of the exalted gentleman ; I 
will turn every circumstance to your ad- 
vantage, every effort shall be made ; de- 
tach Clannagan to the neighborhood of 
Walden’s, whilst I will induce Edward, 
through the authority of his uncle and the 
urgent request of his parents, to return 
home ; you shall grant him a passport of 
protection and call to see him, the whole 
family will see the goodness of your heart ! 
rest assured, my dear Gant, it is the nearest 
way to the affections of the sister.” 

Such was some of the advice of this arch 
intriguer. To Clannagan he urged the 
necessity of showing no overt act of im- 
mediate hostility towards Edward for a 
time, lest the relations and neighborhood, 
too suddenly alarmed, might not so readily 
fall into the confiscation plan ; they might 
fly with their negroes and property towards 
the western portion of the state ; “ Give 
time and take time ; let all be done under 
the semblance of law and on the authority 
of his majesty’s officers. It will strengthen 
our cause, and once fairly begun we can 
be at no loss for such proof as we may re- 
quire to effectuate our designs. In the 
meanwhile I will ferret out Julian, who 
may be placed in the same state of safe 
keeping with the mineralogist to await our 
respective purposes.” 

This notable scheme having been ma- 
tured, Notwood, in company with Felix 
Ashburn as a companion, set out in the 
carriage of the latter for the neigliborhood 
of Major Walden; Tidder, as usual, was 


164 


ONSLOW, 


pressed as a guide ; Notwood bore a letter 
from the family of Col. Conway, urging 
Edward that if he valued the life of his 
mother, and the health of his sister, to come 
home. They promised not to interfere for 
the future with his views in regard to 
politics. 

N^otwood in this journey set his mind 
anxiously to work upon Felix, attempting 
to dissuade him from prosecuting his suit 
with Miss Dashwood. 

“ St. Hie Grayson, Felix, is your best 
chance,” said he. “She must be secured, 
or at all events must not fall into the hands 
of our enemies. She is the daughter of an 
old friend, and there we can rest with a 
plausible excuse, until your efforts are 
made ; I am told that a Whig renegade, 
called Julian Onslow, has some preten- 
sions ; we must succeed in bringing about 
a revolution in her feelings, if they have 
been successfully reached by him.” 

To this, Felix replied that he was al- 
ways ready to enter a new field, “ But do 
you think I could get Diana 1” 

“ You do not have any doubts, do you ? 
I do not ; I know you can,” was the confi- 
dent reply of Notwood. 

“ Then I will marry her.” 

“Never by my consent,” replied Not- 
wood, gravely, “ no, sir, I will never suf- 
fer so great a friend to marry her.” 

“ But I am partially committed ; I must 
act the part of a gentleman.” 

“ Exactly, my dear Felix, it is because 
you are a gentleman that I shall firmly ob- 
ject to any such surrender of your honor ! 
believe me, she does not suit you. It was 
to prove to you your powers of conquest, 
and to show her that although she has 
so often railed at the beaux of the up- 
country, there was one who could bring 
her down from her towering height. She 
is imprudent, Felix. I have no doubt but 
that she is as virtuous as she should be ; 
yet, I am certain, she is imprudent. My 
wife is a prudent, good sort of a short- 
sighted woman; and even she is suspi- 
cious ! — but I will tell you, Felix, without 
cause, I hope ! yes, Diana is imprudent, 
Felix.” 

“ She is a fine looking woman, has a 
person which is the beau-ideal of symme- 
try, has fancy and acquirements.” 

“ And no cash, Felix, no continental 
trash, and no personal or real estate, ex- 
cept her personal charms,” replied Not- 
wood. 

Tidder, who had left his friend Cato on 
the day of the feast at Forest Hill, to ac- 
company the mineralogist to jail, much 


against his inclination, was again com- 
manded by Clannagan to enter his service. 
He was exceedingly desultory in his con- 
versation on this occasion ; at length, 
Notwood said to him. 

“ I believe, Capt. Tidder, that our friend. 
Col. Clannagan, relies mainly on you to 
prove the guilt of the mineralogist.” 

“ He relies on me very much, sir, a 
great deal more than I do on myself,” re- 
plied the little guide, kicking up his pony. 
“He relies on me, sir, to do things that 
would gall the conscience of many a worse 
man, but I am the hack of the whole dis- 
trict, harder rode and worse paid, testify 
more and reap less for the amount of my 
services in that line, than any other man 
under the three Brigadiers; and, God knows, 
that they have a tough time of it ; they eat 
bullfrogs as glibly as I would a perch, and 
as to meat they never get it unless it is a 
poor cow indentured to the crows. Plague 
on me, if I aint a monstrous notion that I 
am a rebel ; there cannot be a man sent to 
dun for money, but I have to swim all 
night and be turned topsy turvy for it ; next 
they can ’t get a spy that’s escaped, but I 
have to plan and inveigle him into their 
power. There can ’t be a love scrape but 
what I must budge, ever since the days of 
my getting my commission as Captain, up 
to day before yesterday, when Mr. Felix, 
there in his fine carriage, asked me to 
carry that sea-lubber or tide-water gal, 
that the horse run away with, a letter.” 

“ Ha ! Felix !” exclaimed Notwood, 

“ Have you been committing yourself on 
paper! these written documents on love 
matters are sometimes as unwelcome vi- 
siters as the ghost of Banquo at the ban- 
quet scene ; but have you kept a copy of 
the sweet scented billet-doux !” 

“ Only a few verses written by our friend 
Capt. Gant. An Ode to Beauty. We both 
can guess who was the inspiring divinity. 

I took a copy, and thinking them applicable 
to Miss Dashwood, asked Capt. Tidder to 
convey them to her; hence his mistake in 
supposing I had entrusted a love letter to 
his care,” replied Felix. 

“ Oh ! a few verses written by Gant, let 
me see if they are worth handing pver to 
Miss Grayson. If you can appropriate the 
heartfelt effusions of true love, to your own 
case,” said Notwood, as he reached out his 
hand to receive the copy which Felix had 
retained, “ so much the better, you must 
use every weapon in such a cause.” 

Notwood, after commanding Sampson to 
drive slowly for a few minutes, read as fol- 
lows, in a clear and distinct voice — 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


165 


ODE TO BEAUTY. 

I. 

Oh ! Beauty, Beauty, who can look on thee. 

And deem thee not a spirit robed in beams? 
Brightly enchanting,— wrapt in mystery, 

Like forms which float around us in our dreams. 
As seen by fountains in the lunar light, 

’Midst rainbow tints, and stars of cloudless night ! 

II. 

Oh Beauty ! Beauty ! who can look on thee 
AVith soul unawed, upon the changeless sight ? 
The vaulted sky, the deep majestic sea. 

Bear change and peril ever in their might ; 

But peerless thou, thy destin’d race will run. 

As erst in Paradise it was begun. 

III. 

01> Beauty ! Beauty ! who can look on thee, 

So bright, so calm, so eloquently mute. 

And not conceive that sounds of melody. 

Like softest tones, from happy maiden’s lute 
Sung to her hopes, ’midst bowers forever fair. 
Float on the breeze and mingle in the air ? 

IV. 

Oh Beauty ! Beauty ! who can look on thee, 
Brighter than fancy’s vision ere beheld ! 

Ethereal essence — Earth’s Divinity ; 

And not pay homage ? By the heart impelled 
Devotion pours its offerings at thy shrine, [thine. 
And deems ’tis Heaven’s whene’er it bows at 

V. 

Oh Beautj' ! Beauty ! who can look on thee, 

In all thy unity of loveliness ; 

And not forget that poor mortality 
Bears in its breast the founts of bitterness ? 

But thou wilt live thro’ time the same — alone 
The world’s crown’d Queen, and willing hearts 
thy throne. 

“ Quite sentimental, Felix,” exclaimed 
Notvvood, throwing himself* in a laughing 
attitude, “ such sentiments do credit to the 
heart, and prove the inspiration is from 
Heaven ! Call it ideal, and present it to 
the fair St. Hie ! I know one that it would 
have suited, the bewitching Mrs. Julia Ar- 
mond ! Felix, will you b^elieve me ? I 
have faith in a species of magnetism ; the 
power to fascinate, to charm. You possess 
it, — I think I do, and Onslow has the facul- 
ty, and I can assure you, that Mrs. Armond 
possesses it in an eminent degree. Yes, 
sir ! it is a curious phenomenon, that a 
look, an eye, a lip should produce an elec- 
trical influence on us. For instance, you 
shall see two persons apparently equal in 
every respect, one will fascinate whilst the 
other will disgust every one — the poet 
says — 

‘ Some forms, though bright, no mortal man can 
bear. 

Some none resist, though not exceeding fair.’ 

Why Felix, you and Gant are both hand- 
some, and yet you would do more by a 
glance, a wave of the hand, than he could 
in a month, by constant attentions. And I 

12 


believe it would be fatal for that fellow 
Onslow, to look at, or converse with a lady, 
she would immediately fall in love with 
him ; but he is fickle and inconstant, and 
must lose his conquests.” 

“ Drive up, Sampson,” cried Felix, who, 
looking at Notwood, continued, “ I believe, 
Major, you have excited my ambition, I 
must see this noble flower of the mountain 
regions; it argues myself untraveled, not 
to have seen her. I will pay her some at- 
tentions, and if all things suit, I can but 
engage her ; two strings, or more, will not 
be amiss.” 

“ Oh no, you cannot by such a scheme 
make a miss, nor will any one take it 
amiss,” said Notwood, attempting a play 
upon the last words of Felix, “ unless it be 
a Miss.” 

“ Exactly my own thoughts, there must 
be a viewless sympathy amongst kindred 
spirits. Hurra ! Sampson, crack up, my 
good fellow, the steel-colored grays are 
not quite so mettlesome as when they took 
their wild-goose chase,” said Felix, relaps- 
ing into a silent and thoughtful mood. 

“ I am thinking, Major,” exclaimed Tid- 
der, having caught the excitement of Samp- 
son’s admonition to his horses, “ that we 
are scampering up and down the country 
on a fool’s errand, nothing to drink, nothing 
to eat ; the times generally quiet, unless 
the Indians should break out ; and here I 
am, scouring the country as if on express; 
I have lost my crop, got no wages and no 
rewards, ' except hard words and sour 
looks; and am compelled to do things con- 
trary to the laws of God and man, riding of 
nights, clapping old men in jail, and I ’m 
not so certain but that some mischief is 
meant my old prisoner. Squire Julian, 
which was all well enough, when I had 
him under guard ; but since his mortal 
enemy, Snyder, is dead, and all the rebel- 
lion is squashed, it is getting time to bury 
our old grudges, and to raise our children 
in a more religious way ; and let me tell 
you. Major, that the profession of arms and 
the habit of being peculiarly punctual, 
causes such a man as me to see a great 
deal of unfruitful service.” 

“ No doubt, Capt. Tidder, but you will 
be rewarded by posterity,” replied Not- 
wood. 

“ Yes, sir, but posterity becomes deaf, 
and has a short memory and is selfish and 
close fisted ; I prefer the present, and I be- 
lieve those who are so full of postponing 
for posterity, are only laying schemes to 
hold fast to the bird in their hands ; whilst 
they point fools to the two in the bush, as 


166 


ONSLOW, 


their reward ; I am g-etting anxious to be- 
gin to clutch a little myself, for the longer 
I remain silent, the less chance I will have. 
Posterity,” continued Tidder, falling back 
behind the carriage, “ is a liar, and has 
ruined more than the sword ; I work hard, 
and posterity’s the pay-master, to which I 
am to look; but I know a thing or two 
whenever it suits me, and if any harm is 
to be hatched against the Squire, 1 ’m a 
dog if I don’t smell it out and defeat them ; 
let big-fighting Timothy alone to manage 
his own matters. I ’m not obliged to ruin 
myself and helpless family, and it’s not to 
be done neither ; and pray, who are these 
two fellows, lolling in their carriage, with 
their proud mulatto driver, and nicked-tail 
horses, and their escort, the valliant Capt. 
Tidder 1 were I not along they would have 
no one to play their mighty airs ofi:*on; they 
are getting rather too familiar and conse- 
quential ; and I wouldn’t hesitate to tell 
them that I prefer Cato Walden to either 
of them. For he ’s got a whiter heart and 
an honester hand this day, than either of 
them ; just to think after I was particularly 
invited to the feast, after I had brought 
home the son, to have to leave all the good 
spirits, and the burying too, to carry an in- 
nocent old man to jail ; and to break his 
heart with the belief that I was to be made 
a swift witness against him. It’s hard, and 
passing hard, and things must mend, or I 
will bolt, and especially if I’m to be turn- 
ed over to Mr. Posterity for my pay.” 

Having reached the proposed neighbor- 
hood, the little express was requested to 
fall in atGabbleton’sfor the purpose of learn- 
ing what news could be gathered from that 
talkative gentleman ; whilst Notwood and 
Felix drove forward towards Mrs. Gray- 
son’s, where it was believed Edward Con- 
way was spending most of his time since 
his wound; a kind of half way ground 
where he and Amelia could be in each 
other’s company, without attracting the 
special observation of the inquisitive. 

“ Why, God bless you. Gab,” exclaimed 
Tidder, on arriving at the proposed place, 
“ old friends are easily made friends again, 
when nobody ’s in the way to laugh at them 
and prevent it. How are all the other 
worthies and gents, such as you and Holi- 
day!” 

“ No time for compliments, Tidder, light 
and look at your saddle ; friend or foe I 
know your depth and bottom ; dismount and 
get down and walk in the house, and take 
dinner or pot-luck with me to-day, or this 
afternoon.” 


“ It ’s a trade,” said Tidder, springing 
from his pony. 

“ I ’ve been suspicious ever since,” con- 
tinued Gabbleton, whilst taking the pony of 
his visiter to an adjoining stable, still ad- 
dressing Tidder, “ that old tinker, and that 
wild Indian woman, and that high-mettled 
fellow Onslow, who had such a fight with 
the good old Major, about allowing unne- 
cessary intrusions; and Major Walden now- 
a-days is, or is not, at home; exactly to 
suit the wishes and business of those who 
seek him.” 

Tidder made his friend easy, by stating 
that the main inducement of his visit, was 
one of a friendly nature, to ascertain where 
Edward Conway was, and to learn some- 
thing in relation to Julian. 

“ I know nothing, and mean to know no- 
thing of nobody,” was Gabbleton’s reply. 
How well he kept his determination will be 
seen, when Capt. Tidder appears again be- 
fore the reader. 


CHAPTER XLI. 

Eld. Bro. List ! list ! I hear 

Some far off halloo break the silent air. 

y. Ero. Methought so too, what should it be ? 

Milton. 

Major Notwood, on his arrival at the 
Sycamores, announced his name and that 
of his companion. They were politely re- 
ceived by Mrs. Grayson, who with her 
daughter and Amelia constituted seeming- 
ly the whole of the family. 

The wily magician knew well how to 
play off his talents; he was affable, acqui- 
escing and even deferential ; he plied all 
his skill, and artfully turned every circum- 
stance to his own advantage to gain the 
full confidence of the several ladies ; sooth- 
ing and plausible, bland and dignified, he 
eschewed every subject calculated to give 
pain. He descanted with becoming since- 
rity against the evils of war, its bitter pri- 
vations, its false position in regard to the 
elevated feelings of our nature. 

Felix became enraptured with Amelia ; 
her kind manners, her artless frankness 
and delicate wit, completely captivated 
him, and long ere night, he who went un-’ 
der the ostensible plea of captivating St. 
Ille, was most effectually smitten with the 
charms of another. 

The quick and searching eyes of Not- 
wood failed not to detect the feverish ex- 
citement amongst the ladies then at the 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


167 


Sycamores. He cautiously spoke of the ob- 
ject of his visit, and his great attachment 
to Edward and to Julian. 

It was some hours after he had gained 
the confidence of the family, when Amelia, 
after having been absent a few minutes, 
returned into the parlor with the lank, 
long form of Capt. Bucklebelt, following 
close after her. Notwood instinctively 
drew out a pistol, and Ashburn, seeing the 
movement of his friend, sprang to his side. 

“ No attitude of hostility, here, gentle- 
men,” exclaimed Amelia, “ I claim your 
observance of peace and good will towards 
our friends, and Capt. Bucklebelt is one of 
them.” 

“ It depends,” replied Notwood, still eye- 
ing the calm, collected features of Buckle- 
belt, “ upon the wishes and intentions of 
the opposite party ; a soldier is ever ready 
to protect himself, and, if necessary, the 
fairest portion of the king’s subjects.” 

“Yes, sir,” replied Bucklebelt, “a sol- 
dier is even on guard. But to cut the mat- 
ter short, I am a protector of the fair sex 
myself; they are neither subjects of the 
king, nor subjects for the protection of any 
of his subalterns, and as to the idea of 
threats and defiance, and our inclinations, 
they are now at your command in single 
combat by moonlight, or daylight, at ten 
paces, or foot to foot, just as your bias leads 
you.” 

St. Ille ran to Bucklebelt, and in an im- 
ploring tone besought him to retire and 
leave their visiters to stay out their time, 
unmolested. “ They profess friendship for 
our friends, and perhaps an irritating con- 
versation may lead to their future injury,’ 
said St. Ille, still urging her request. 

“You and yours, fair ladies,” said Buckle- 
belt aloud, “ will rue the day of this visit. 
It is the harbinger of ruin to those whose 
names I will not mention.” 

“ Mention them,” exclaimed a voice, 
sternly and sharply, behind Bucklebelt. 

Amelia sprang towards the door and ex- 
claimed, “ Oh ! Edward, do not be angry, 
Capt. Bucklebelt will not receive any inju- 
ry from Major Notwood; he comes as your 
friend, let me entreat you to return to your 
room, you are not yet well enough to come 
out.” 

“ Is that the voice of Edward Conwayl” 
said Notwood, “ I must see him.” 

“ You can’t pass out yet,” said Buckle- 
belt, throwing his long arms against the 
facings of the door, “be seated, sir, and if 
Mr. Edward wishes to see you, well and 
good, and if he does not, so much the bet- 
ter.” 


This unpleasant altercation was -speedily 
settled by Amelia, who seized the hand of 
Edward, and brought him into the parlor. 
“ Come in, sir, and let them all see if you 
are not a fit subject for a guide,” said the 
blushing girl, as she entered with him. 

“ Farewell, fair ladies,” said Bucklebelt, 
when pressed to be seated, “when you 
have more need of me, I shall obey you.” 

St. Ille pursued him to the back way, 
and saw him mount his horse and dash off, 
in a brisk gait. 

Woman’s love ! Woman’s heart, who 
can unweave the intricate web which 
covers over its hidden treasures! Man 
has not the same organization, — the same 
pliability of feeling, the delicacy, tact, sen- 
sibility, the same devotedness ! how then 
can he unravel the mystery 1 Can woman'! 
Oh ! but will woman pour oqt the secrets 
of her devotion for man to her own sex'? 
will she breathe her passionate and sacred 
thoughts, her deep and abiding devotion'? 
never I never to woman’s ear I man hears 
them, and but half appreciates them; the 
exquisite tenderness and heaven-born de- 
votedness, are too often lost upon him un- 
til it is too late ! That love which appears 
fickle as the inconstant cloud, becomes as 
intense and as fixed as the light of the sun. 
St. Ille stood firmly rooted to the spot ; the 
words of Bucklebelt caused her to think 
of Julian, and she determined to seek his 
hiding place and warn him of his danger. 

To a temperament as ardent as that of 
Edward’s, surrounded by Amelia, Felix, 
and the fascinating Notwood, little would 
be necessary to make it happy, and ere bed 
time, he had formed the resolution to agree 
to the proposed arrangements of his art- 
ful deceiver. 

About ten o’clock, and after the gentle- 
men had retired to bed, St. Ille set out with 
Amelia, to seek the hiding place of Julian, 
which was on the opposite side of the river, 
convenient to the house of a poor but 
stanch Whig. 

“ St. Ille, my dearest,” said Amelia, “had 
we not better give over our trip,” as they 
started, (the moon just rising, its broad disk 
looking like the first blush of morn.) 

“ Do as you please, Amelia, I go at all 
hazards. 1 fear that glozing tongue, and 
the grave and solemn warning of Buckle- 
belt forebodes evil ; he knows Major Not- 
wood.” 

This firm answer w^as sufficient; their 
path lay through a thickly set woods, and 
they had just emerged from it, and crossed 
over into a field, which reached to the 
Banks of the river, skirted with under- 


168 


ONSLOW, 


growth and vines, and forming a dense 
thick shade, as they lay in the beams of 
the moon, which fell full upon every ob- 
fect. 

“ What is to be done 1” asked St. Ille, 
pointing to the forms of two persons, “ we 
are now a mile from the house, and flight 
is impracticable. Look ! they have moved 
back into the shade.” 

■ “I see the shape of a woman, standing 
out in the moonlight. What can they 
mean!” asked Amelia, grasping the arm 
of her companion. 

“ Let us return without showing any ap- 
pearance of apprehension,” replied St. Ille, 
“ I fear that we will betray Julian if they 
accost us.” 

But no sooner was this determination 
taken, and they had started to return, than 
the form of a woman began to move around 
them with considerable speed, as if anxious 
to speak to them, or to prevent them from 
returning. 

“ Who are you, and what brings young 
ladies out at such an hour of night 1” asked 
the strange woman. 

“We must first know your business 
with us,” replied St. Ille, with a show of 
firmness. 

“ First asked, first answered !” replied 
the stranger. 

“You should be ashamed to be > found 
attempting to betray a person who never 
did you an injury,” said St. Ille, turning to 
depart. , 

“ I ’m rather too closely watched to be- 
tray myself; and self, you both know, is 
amazing near ; so you must excuse me, if 
I still insist on your business here, for my 
superiors have ordered me to ascertain the 
motive of your visit, and then to persuade 
you to return immediately home, if you 
have no ambush on hand.” 

“ I heard that voice at my father’s,” 
said Amelia, whispering to St. Ille. “ He 
is the little express — I know it is the same 
person.” 

“ Ah ! my good friend, we know you. I 
hope you mean no harm to Julian Onslow. 
Come and see me to-morrow, and detail the 
whole affair ; but let me beseech you not 
to betray him.” 

At this juncture a tall, spare figure ap- 
proached, muffled up, and spoke in a quick 
voice. 

“ Get ye home, ladies — we are fisher- 
men, and do not wish to be interrupted by 
moon-loving damsels. And you, madam,” 
said Clannagan, addressing Tidder, (for 
these were the two persons besides St. 
Ille and Amelia,) “ make your gossiping 


parley shorter. Your ladyship is Avant- 
ing at the river. Good night, ladies; and 
take a stranger’s advice — the nearer the 
lambs stay to the sheep-fold, the less dan- 
ger of the wolf— recollect, we are fisher- 
men !” 

The two young ladies prudently took the 
advice given, finding that their presence 
could evidently add nothing to the safety 
of themselves or Julian. Their adventure 
was still inexplicable, and they retired to 
their rooms full of undefined apprehen- 
sions; and St. Ille, late at night, saw the 
form of a man cautiously passing beneath 
her window and enter the house. She in- 
stinctively concluded that JVlajor Notwood 
was connected in some Avay with the af- 
fair at the river. She little dreamed, how- 
ever, that her most vivid fears were already 
realized. 

This was brought about by the hatred 
which Gabbleton had towards Julian, and 
because he thought it would gratify the 
wishes of Major Walden; for in Gabbleton 
all other feelings were merged in the ab- 
sorbing ones of reverence and esteem to- 
wards Major Walden. Like the enthusi- 
astic soldier, who on the field of battle lifts 
his glazed eyes, and stretches out his 
mangled limbs, and with ghastly smiles 
seems to implore blessings on his com- 
mander, after the once electrified heart 
had long ceased to perform its office to- 
wards the exhausted system, essaying, as 
it were, in death to enter on a field of ab- 
stract devotion to another ! Gabbleton 
would have been torn in pieces by wild 
horses, before he would have made the dis- 
closures, which he so cheerfully did to Tid- 
der, if he for a moment could have supposed 
that Major Walden would not have sanc- 
tioned his course. 

Suffice it to say, that Clannagan had no 
sooner heard from Tidder that he had as- 
certained from Gabbleton the plan to ob- 
tain an interview with Julian, than he put 
his schemes into full operation. 

He prepared Tidder with his dress, and 
had made such arrangements with Not- 
wood before he had retired to bed, (by 
seeing him at Mrs. Grayson’s,) as to be 
ready for his plot when St. Ille and Amelia 
approached his band at the river. No 
sooner had the two young ladies retired, 
than Clannagan gave the sound from a 
whistle which St. Ille used as a signal to 
Julian, and which Gabbleton had, in his 
fishing excursions, detected. 

The shrill notes are heard — soon a light 
canoe is shoved from the opposite bank ! 

It glides swiftly over the smooth and 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


169 


glassy stream ! The light dip of the pad- 
die — the flash of the reflected waters, are 
watched by the eager eyes of relentless 
enemies. 

“ A good shot, Notwood — what say you I” 
whispered Clannagan. 

“ I ’ll give it, if you say so !” replied 
McQuirk. 

“ You assassin !” replied the leader, with 
a chuckle ; “ not now — I have rather longer 
punishment ahead for him. Recollect, sir, 
be as willing when I call on you.” 

“ What !” exclaimed Tidder, rather too 
loud for a whisper, “not in jail at Ninety- 
Six, with the old mineralogist 1” 

“ Silence, madam ! You are to step up 
to him, as if about to shake hands with 
him, wliilst we seize him.” 

“ My God ! he might not like for me to 
be so familiar, especially if he should dis- 
cover that I was not tlie bona fide that he 
was expecting.” 

What a contrast ! the young and gal- 
lant lover hastening to the supposed call 
of his own idol, whilst unchastened re- 
venge and calculating avarice, backed by 
dogged servility, are lying in wait. 

“ My dearest St. Ille not alone 1” 

“ Pinion his arms ! Bind them firmly ! 
Resist, and I ’ll blow you to hell !” was the 
harsh reply of Clannagan. 

After this command had been effected on 
Julian, Clannagan said to him, with a fiend- 
like chuckle — 

“ You have passed a sweet and idle life, 
meeting love-sick girls by moonlight. Sup- 
pose you try your fortunes a little further 
South. Prepare,” continued he, turning 
to McQuirk and Tidder, “for the most di- 
rect route to Mcllhaney’s.” 

“ For God’s sake ! my dear Colonel, let 
me take off’ these petticoats, and let me 
breathe and refresh myself a little in this 
neighborhood. I wish to absorb a little of 
the fat of the land — man and beast must 
famish and decay, unless now and then they 
get a little food and rest.” 

“ Well spoken. Master Tidder,” replied 
Clannagan, “ but Gabbleton ’s the man to 
grumble. We owe the whole affair to his 
long tongue. Strike ahead with the love- 
sick baby !” 

“If I must, I must,” replied Tidder, 
“but T swear I’ll never put on another 
hussey’s frock — it ’s a disgrace to the mili- 
tary commission which I hold.” 

“ Shut up !” said Clannagan, fiercely. 
“ And you, Major Notwood, to bed. A few 
more vigorous shoves, and the pit holds the 
rebels. *^We meet at Ninety-Six,” added 
Clannagan, as he coldly touched the ex. 


tended hand of his dark accomplice ; then 
whirling on his noble horse, he ordered a 
retreat from the ill fated spot. 


CHAPTER XLII. 

No argument like matter of fact is : 

And we are best of all led to 

Men’s principles, by what they do. 

IIUDIBRAS. 

Captain Bucklebelt, early the next morn- 
ing after he had left Mrs. Grayson’s, sought 
Major Walden, to warn him of his suspi- 
cions. He found his friend reading the de- 
termination of Congress to order a Court of 
Inquiry into the conduct of General Gates, 
and that in the interim the General-in- 
chief should appoint a successor. 

“ It is intimated,” said Major Walden, 
“that General Green is to be our com- 
mander.' Sir, the South will be saved — 
the appointment would carry confidence 
and success in it.” 

“ Ay,” replied Bucklebelt, “ he is an 
able officer. If my memory fails me not, 
he has served long and faithfully, rising 
step by step, exhibiting great abilities as 
Quarter-Master General — commanding the 
division at Springfield against Knyphausen, 
and acquiring great applause. He fought 
against Weldon in the close of the battle 
of Brandywine, and opposed Lord Corn- 
wallis in New Jersey. He was chief of 
the left wing in the memorable battle of 
Germantown ; and the right wing was un- 
der his direction at the hard fought battle 
of Monmouth, where the enemy were so 
much crippled. He contributed to the 
gallant retreat under Sullivan, in the inva- 
sion of Rhode Island ; and I agree with 
you. Major Walden, that no one out of our 
own State is better suited for the responsi- 
" ble station. But, sir, we have at this time 
three Brigadiers equal to any in the world.” 

“ I admit their great claims, Bucklebelt, 
but abilities do not always beget confidence 
at once; the fame of General Green is 
known over the whole world. We are to 
be free ! But what has caused you to seek 
me out from my hiding place 1 Any more 
atrocities committed 1” 

After Bucklebelt had given his opinions 
at some length, and had the mortification 
to hear his friend Julian abused as a vaga- 
bond and colleague of the mineralogist, he 
proposed to accompany the Major to Mrs. 
Grayson’s, with such number of his friends 
as vvould ensure his safety. 

“ What have I to fear from such noble 


170 


ONSLOW; 


and genteel troopers making war and love 
in a carriage ? I fear nothing from them.” 

Such was the answer of Major Walden ; 
and the only matter of interest which was 
elicited was by a reiterated wish on the 
part of Bucklebelt for the future success of 
Julian. This, like all similar conversations 
in which his name was introduced, led to 
renewed denunciations on the part of the 
Major, who expatiated upon his guardianship 
over St. Ille, and the noble and authentic 
stock from which Edward was descended. 
But Bucklebelt, although he did full justice 
to the great claims of Edward Conway, 
combatted the idea of objecting to Julian 
on the grounds of the want of a noble de- 
scent, contending earnestly that one of the 
main pillars of the Declaration of Inde- 
pendence rested on the equality of all 
mankind ; and he reminded his friend that 
his assertion that love was merely a theo- 
retical abstraction, was at war with his 
own experience, and did not come under 
the head of theories and speculations, but 
under the Baconian process of matter of 
fact. 

“ Is Edir Immerson,” asked Major Wal- 
den, “ linked in with the mineralogist and 
Julian I” 

“ Edir Immerson will never condescend 
to any intrigue against you, or any one 
else. Her hatred is too sublimated, too 
selfish, to form any alliance with any 
one !” 

Bucklebelt continued to give his friend 
a detailed account of the causes which had 
operated on the proud and susceptible feel- 
ings of Edir Immerson, referring to various 
medical writers, to explain the true causes 
of such affections, and finally recited some 
facts to prove her enthusiasm in some por- 
tions of Indian superstition, mixed, as it 
was, with her early religious precepts. 

“ But why this strange fiincy, on her 
part, towards your 3mung friend, Julian 
Onslow V’ 

' “ I let your sneer pass,” replied Buckle- 
belt ; “ but how do you account for those 
who hate, who differ in religion, in politics, 
suddenly forming coalitions? Some secret 
sympathy, some generous impulse, un- 
doubtedly sways them. Then why be 
surprised if she should have formed an 
affection for one who was friendless, and 
a wanderer like herself” 

“ Let me tell you, Bucklebelt, that this 
vile plot now on foot shall never cause me 
to quail before threats, or yield to en- 
treaties.” 

“ You certainly mean no act of overt in- 
jury to my 3"0ung friend ?” asked Buckle- 


belt, suddenly halting in the road. “ For 
if you do,” continued the worthy Captain, 
“ although I would follow you to the last 
hour of my life in a righteous cause, yet 
all the divines of the Church of England 
could not persuade me to go any further 
with you.” 

“ You may go to h — 11 with your condi- 
tions ! I am a freeman !” replied the 
Major. 

“ Exactly what I am !” retorted Buckle- 
belt, suddenly whirling his horse around, 
and starting back the way they had come. 

“Open rebellion!” exclaimed Major 
Walden; “and Bucklebelt has dared to 
belie his whole life! Has dared to in- 
sinuate that I am capable of acting the 
part of injustice ! His friend, wife, chil- 
dren, and country, all to be sacrificed to 
his cursed monomania towards a renegade 
conspirator. I ’ll see them all with Dives, 
before I would bow an inch to any of 
them !” 

Once or twice the furious Major halted 
and turned his head, expecting that Buckle- 
belt would repent, and return to ask his 
pardon ; but finding that he did not, he 
pursued his course to the Sycamores, in a 
moody and turbulent state of feelings, 
muttering denunciations and vengeance 
on Julian and his accomplices, and occa- 
sionally uttering a half suppressed oath 
against the blind obstinacy of Bucklebelt. 

The reception of Major Walden at the 
Sycamores was warm and cordial, and he 
in a little time was entirely relieved of 
all restraint. He found Edward in fine 
spirits, and nearly recovered. The soft, 
sweet eyes of Amelia, her dove-like inno- 
cence, her free and easy manners, with the 
seeming freedom which she showed towards 
his nephew, were calculated to rouse some 
suspicions that she, and not St. Ille, was 
the object of Edward’s affections. 

The inquisitive glance of Notwood saw 
at once into the hidden feelings of each 
bosom. He saw the proud and haughty 
Walden bent on the alliance of his nephew 
to the only daughter of Colonel Grayson. 
He saw at once the difficulty from the re- 
ciprocal attachment between Edward and 
Amelia, He noted the restless and deep 
shades of anxiety, as they flew over the 
commanding, though pensive brow of St. 
Tile, and he felt no scruples of conscience 
in availing himself of his knowledge to 
further his private views. Julian w'as al- 
ready in his power. 

He had other victims to sacrifice, but it 
required time and skill to mature his 
schemes. It would be tedious to detail 

I 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


171 


his conversation with each. His acquies- 
cing kindness towards Mrs. Grayson — the 
soft and kind tones in which lie lulled the 
fears and suspicions of St. Ille — the fami- 
liar and manly language to Edward — the 
deferential and respectful manners to Major 
Walden, not to mention his playful wit and 
light badinage to Amelia, and his sly, 
deep arguments to induce Felix to address 
one, or botlj^f the young ladies — all were 
in keeping with his character, and proved 
that versatility of talents which fitted him 
to act a conspicuous part, for good or for 
evil, wherever he chose to exert them. 

Major Walden, after requesting a private 
interview, flatly and openly denounced Ju- 
lian to St. Ille and her mother, and forbade 
any further encouragement of his preten- 
sions. He expatiated upon the binding obli- 
gations to carry out the wishes of his an- 
cient friend. Colonel Grayson. Thus the 
tomb often covers the enmity of life ! when 
rivalry no longer thrusts itself in the way 
of ambitious aspirations, the calmer chari- 
ties are professed, and sometimes, as it 
were, atonement made for the past trans- 
gressions to the dead, to surviving friends 
and relatives. But there were some strong 
and prominent feelings at work in the 
breast of Major Walden ; his hatred to 
Julian, his great and leading desire to see 
Edward well married, and that disposition 
tO' carry out his own will when once 
formed, had no little share in his deter- 
mination to act the part of a faithful 
guardian. 

St. Ille burst into tears. This allusion 
to the wishes of her father, called up the 
bitter recollections of the past. The 
scenes of his last hours rushed to her 
mind ! 

“lam your friend and guardian. Miss 
Grayson,” said the Major, awkwardly tak- 
ing hold of her hand, “ and hope that you 
do not consider me harsh, in asking a pro- 
mise from you, never to marry that un- 
known adventurer, Julian Onslow.” 

“ I shall marry^no one shortly,” said St. 
Ille, falteringly. 

“ Don’t be too positive,” replied the 
Major. “ I am not opposed to an alliance 
with your equal. To be short and serious, 
if you can fancy Edward, he shall be 
yours; and all I can say is, that if you 
attempt to marry tlie other, I shall feel 
bound to interpose every obstacle in my 
power, even if I have to cause his arrest 
upon my own private grievances, as hav- 
ing entered into a base conspiracy against 
my property, if not my life.” 

“ You lose your dignity, sir,” said St. 


Ille, “ in abusing a gentleman who enjoys 
the love and confidence of your most de- 
voted friends.” 

Mrs. Grayson interposed to prevent any 
further ill feeling, but Major Walden was 
too much excited to listen with calmness. 

“ I am my own guardian. Miss Grayson, 
and if you have any disposition to get en- 
tangled in a love affair, contrary to rriy 
wishes, I shall feel bound to stick to my 
word. But do you, or do you not, think 
Edward a suitable match for yourself, or 
any other young lady V’ 

“Most unquestionably I do, and if you 
will ask Amelia Milligan that question, in 
a proper temper, perhaps you might hear 
an agreeable answer.” 

“ Edward shall leave this neighborhood ; 
it seems we both are to have guardians !” 
replied the Major, as he made a hasty bow 
to the two ladies, breaking off his unsuc- 
cessful interview. 

Notwood felt his blood flow freely — his 
great tact had so far been put to a success- 
ful issue ; and that happy excitation which 
arises from the employment of the favorite 
bias of the mind, was now enjoyed ; he felt 
as if he possessed the power of seeing into 
the hidden recesses of the heart; and he 
touched the prejudices and strong feelings 
of Major Walden with the wand of a skill- 
ful magician. 

During the preparations for the depar- 
ture of the gentlemen to Colonel Conway’s, 
whither they all proposed to proceed, (Ma- 
jor Walden having yielded to the pressing 
entreaties of Notwood,) Edward exhibited 
some little feeling; he saw the beautiful 
countenance of Amelia, in spite of her en- 
deavors to suppress her emotions, exhibit- 
ing sudden disappointment. So plainly 
does the unpracticed heart of innocence, 
like the polished surface of a mirror, re- 
flect back the image which is made upon 
it ! But Edward was a little selfish, some- 
what of a monopolist, and did not wish that 
Mr. Ashburn, or any one else, should suc- 
ceed without opposition. Perhaps he 
wished St. Ille to love 'him, from a law 
of mere association, which connects feel- 
ings with persons and places ; for instance, 
the two girls were generally together, and 
he could seldom think of one, without call- 
ing up the image of the other. Is not that 
which is so often branded as inconstancy in 
a lover, but the homage which the heart 
pays to similar charms and endowments, 
when found in other objects besides the 
one beloved 1 Edward’s heart had not yet 
been riven to the centre. The deep im- 
plantings of passion, which root so deep. 


172 


ONSLOW, 


and smother all other feelings, had not 
been matured. Amelia confided in him, 
as a friend and brother. Thus ever it is 
with young love ! But she confided in a 
noble and gallant heart — one which would 
have scorned itself, if it had felt capable of 
trifling with affections like hers, although 
he was not fully apprised of her deep de- 
votion towards him ; and she was too happy 
to imagine that a cloud could cast a tem- 
porary shadow over the sunshine of hope 
which illumined her bosom. Experience 
alone brings knowledge. She had yet to 
learn its bitter lessons. 

After the usual and proper parting com- 
pliments on the part of the several gentle- 
men, they set out about ten o’clock for the 
residence of Colonel Conway. 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

tSpi. Ay, me unhappy ! then my fears are true. 

CoMtJS. 

No sooner had the party left Mrs. Gray- 
son’s, than St. Ille, who had looked with 
great anxiety for the hour of their departure, 
(always excepting Edward Conway, wliose 
high regard for Julian, and manly deport- 
ment, made his presence always welcome 
at her mother’s,) started, attended by her 
servant maid, to the place where she had 
usually met Julian, since he had enrolled 
himself as an active belligerent against the 
enemies of his country. She was too full 
of apprehension, too full of the exciting 
thoughts of his future safety, to seek for an 
escort. She wished perhaps to tell him, 
unseen and unheard by any one, what had 
been her fears during the night, and the 
threats she had just heard. 

On arriving at the bank of the river, 
which she had abandoned on the night be- 
fore, she perceived the tracks of horses and 
the appearance of foot prints. She was 
much dismayed, when she beheld the ca- 
noe, which, from the hasty manner it had 
been abandoned, had floated several yards 
down the stream ; she found a whistle part- 
ly trampled in the sand ; with a palpitating 
heart, she essayed to make the usual sig- 
nal ; failing, she used the one which she al- 
ways bore about her, but it likewise failed 
to bring Julian to the opposite shore. Al- 
most frantic, and without considering the 
possibility that he might have crossed over, 
she determined to visit the place where she 
had usually met with him, in company with 
Edward and Amelia ; a secluded spot on 
the opposite side of the river where he 


spent most of his leisure hours, and suffi- 
ciently near to hear a signal from whence 
St. Hie now wished to cross. With a 
trembling hand she shoved the light canoe 
from the shore, and springing into it, they 
plied the paddles with so much determina- 
tion, as to effect a landing in safety; hasti- 
ly tying the canoe — with a quick and hur- 
ried step she threaded her way through a 
dense coppice of undergrowth,Hvhich skirt- 
ed a high and commanding hill — panting 
and agitated with apprehension for the safe- 
ty of Julian, and from her unwonted exer- 
tions, she ascended the sides of the hill ; 
she at length approached the secluded spot, 
sheltered % a projecting rock ; she listen- 
ed to hear the breathings of Julian! But 
she was doomed to disappointment ; pulling 
away the cluster of wild vines which fell 
over and screened the half-formed grotto 
from without, she beheld nothing but the 
rude seat, and the little table, which she 
had given him, a few books, paper, ink and 
pen were before her. She sunk on the 
seat and hiding her face in her hands 
sobbed aloud. All her fears seemed now 
realized ; imagination painted Julian as be- 
trayed ! Perhaps in prison ; but the tempest 
of the heart is like that of the heavens, 
often followed by the rainbow ; hope 
whispered that the hand of Providence 
would still protectjhim ; she became more 
calm, and recovering somewhat the com- 
mand of her feelings, she ventured to open 
one of the books lying on the table, and 
found the following lines, evidently writ- 
ten in anticipation of her expected visit on 
the last evening. 

Sweet Sf. Ille ! Sweet St. Ille, 

None are true and fair like thee ; 

Though stars are bright, tho’ stars are bright ; 

^ And gentle dews that fall at night. 

Are turned to gems by bright of morning ; 
They shun the sun, the day adorning. 

Tho’ others be true, others be fair. 

Yet none with thee can ever compare. 

Sweet St. Ille ! sweet St. Ille, 

None are true and fair like thee — 

List, love, ’tis noon ! List, love, ’tis noon ! 
Remember, too, the silver moon — 

Come with the signal of our meeting — 

I ’ll meet thee then, with love’s true greeting — 
The’ others be true — others be fair. 

Yet none with thee can ever compare ! 

The fair occupant of the secluded spot 
was unexpectedly startled by the appear- 
ance of Capt. Bucklebelt, who, on the morn- 
ing he had quarreled with Major Walden, 
actually shed tears at the injustice he had 
met at the hands of his old friend. “ I ’ll go 
home and turn idler — I’ll listen to the long 


A TALE OF TKE SOUTH. 


173 


tales of Jedediah Holiday ; and so here we 
go, Mr. Obligation,” said the worthy Cap- 
tain, as he drove unconsciously his huge 
spurs to the flanks of his noble charger, 
the gift of Major Walden ; but this decla- 
ration in favor of future inactivity yielded 
to his warm attachment to Julian ; hence 
his appearance at the place of his conceal- 
ment. 

It needs no extraordinary stretch of the 
imagination, to appreciate the feelings of 
St. Ille, when she heard the fears which 
Bucklebelt expressed for the safety of Juli- 
an. Woman’s affections may at times be 
variable, and inexplicable upon the ordinary 
views of men. Even the timid and sensi- 
tive, when left to their own guidance, will 
sometimes exhibit to a stranger a confi- 
dence and reliance, which they withhold 
from a constant associate, or one whom 
they look to as a guardian or protector. — 
Such a seeming inconsistency is one of the 
best safe-guards in a uniform character. It 
is often the offspring of a well balanced 
self respect. It actuates the person to 
command the regard of those for whom they 
have the greatest affection, by keeping up 
to that uniform standard which is the ac- 
knowledged one of the character ; let no 
one say that this savors of duplicity — 
evinces a want of that confidence which 
should characterize the intercourse of mu- 
tual friends. It is the homage paid to truth 
— to a uniform and high moral grade of 
conduct. The frequent acknowledgments 
made by persons that they have unexpect- 
edly heard of some trait hitherto unknown 
in the character of an intimate friend, may 
be owing to the fact just noticed ; or, that 
a long acquaintance tames that buoyan- 
cy and elasticity of the mind, which new 
objects and new circumstances ex.cite. 

On this occasion, St. Ille frankly stated 
all the incidents of the last evening, with 
her ma ny apprehensions and suspicions. — 
She hesi tated not to avow her deep solici- 
tude and affection for Julian; she urged 
with earnestness the necessity of taking 
immediate measures for ascertaining what 
had caused his absence, and added her rea- 
diness to furnish any assistance which Capt. 
Bucklebelt might require, either as funds 
for his own use, or aid to his family. But 
Bucklebelt required no incentives, however 
cogent the entreaties of St. Ille might be 
considered, or powerful the hope of recom- 
pense, they fell far short of that devoted 
love he felt towards a brave and unfortu- 
nate brother soldier. 

After he had seen St. Ille safe at home, 
he took an affectionate leave, assuring her 


that he would spare no time, nor zeal, in 
rendering all the service to Julian, which 
any other human being in the state could 
be found to accomplish, who was not on a 
better footing with the party in power. 

In a day or two, St. Ille and her mother 
accompanied Amelia to her father’s; the 
former vainly hoping,’ that chance might 
develop the causes which had produced 
the sudden disappearance of Julian. 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

Learning has borne sucli fruit in other days 
On all her branches. Piety has found 
Friends, in the friends of science. 

COWPER. 

The party having charge of Julian, ar- 
rived without any accident at the fort of 
Ninety-Six, a village which is said to have 
derived its name from being ninety-six 
miles from the principal town of the Chero- 
kees, called Keowee ; others with equal 
probability derive its name from the dis- 
tance a friendly Indian is said to have run 
in a day, to give warning of the approach 
of a hostile party of savages, against the 
settlement. It was the chief village lying 
between the Saluda and Savannah rivers, 
— the most populous district in the State, it 
was the scene of more inveterate hatred 
and private malice, than any other portion 
of the continent. The fort was first erect- 
ed as a protection against the Indians ; but 
was now commanded by Col. Cruger, a na- 
tive of New York, of respectable parent- 
age ; his garrison was five hundred and 
fifty strong; three hundred and fifty of 
whom were regulars, and, like himself, 
Americans; the balance were loyal mili- 
tia of the State, under Col. King. 

To the latter, Clannagan sent a pressing 
request to have a strict watch kept over 
Julian, as he was one who had violated his 
parole, and had incurred the penalty of 
death. 

Julian’s heart recoiled at the squalid ap- 
pearance of many of his fellow prisoners. 
'Pheir unshorn beards, and soiled and mat- 
ted hair, with scarcely rags enough to keep 
out the cold, which began to become pinch- 
ing and uncomfortable, were not calculat- 
ed to prepossess him in favor of his new 
abode. The first of this miserable crew to 
meet him was the mineralogist. 

“ What ! and you would not worship 
Baall” said he, raising his eyes from an old 
garment which he was patching; “ you see, 
I am compelled to deviate from a scripture 


174 


ONSLOW, 


maxim, not to put old cloth to new, but ne- j 
cessity has no law.” ■ 

“And what have you done, my young } 
lark 1” asked one of the prisoners ; “ you j 
owed a small sum of money, and the conti- | 
nental wouldn ’t satisfy the stomach of 
your Tory creditor.” 

“No,” replied another, “he had one or 
two ash-cat negroes, and the Tories wished 
to be called master in his stead.” 

“ You are all wrong,” said a third, he 
two years ago refused to let a Tory dog 
court his sister, or he has an old uncle full 
of money, and he is the only heir.” 

“ Silence,” shouted the mineralogist, “it 
is to mortify me ; to break down and retard 
the wonderful discoveries which I have 
made,— but, God protect you,” said the 
speaker, suddenly changing his voice, and 
embracing Julian, whilst the tears glisten- 
ed in his eyes, as he turned them wildly 
up to the dark low roof, seemingly uncon- 
scious where he was. The effect was con- 
tagious on the light-hearted spectators, and 
they who from their appearance and conver- 
sation, had apparently lost all respect for 
the social virtues, had their long dormant 
sympatliies roused into action. Thus me- 
mory or association providently lays up 
the finer qualities of the heart, to be called 
into play in after life. 

“ Leave us, my friends,” said the mine- 
ralogist, waving his hand, “we must be 
allowed to be alone.” 

As soon as the prisoners had obeyed the 
request of the mineralogist, he continued. 

“ And you have been betrayed into the 
hands of the Philistines by Micajah Wal- 
den 1 nay, shake not your head, he has 
reasons ! motives ! deep as hell ! Is he not 
crying for the rocks and hills to fall on 
him, and hide him from the light of truth 1 
Does not this tin cylinder contain evidence, 
which would make his blood gush through 
his heart like an angry torrent through the 
narrow fissures of the mountains'? Have 
not these vile miscreants, who have con- 
fined us, been poring over my manuscripts 'I 
fools ! they could not decipher my writings ; 
written in a newly invented short-hand, 
(a written out copy of which, I have safely 
deposited where they never can find it,) all 
their learned topographers and engineers 
could not unravel it. I wish I could lead 
Marcus Coldfire against this redoubt, or 
rather den of thieves, I could invest it witli 
such ordnance, either ancient or modern, 
and some of my newly invented chemicals, 
as would blow the whole sufficiently high 
to let in a little more of the heat and light 
of the sun, which they seem to begrudge 


us. But I do not despair. Crudon, and 
his co-working confiscators, will but ac- 
celerate the downfall of their authority, 
maintained by fraud and oppression. 

“ I have had reward offered for you, and 
a minute account of your history. John 
Crudon, the confiscating agent, under his 
lordship’s proclamation, of the 16th of 
September, new style, waited on me three 
days successively. 

“ ‘ Liberate me, promise safety to Julian, 
and then I will hear you,’ was my constant 
demand. 

“ ‘ You may injure your young friend, 
and suffer in person,’ was his answer. 

“ ‘ Persist in your nefarious schemes, and 
you will suffer in hell fire,’ was my retort. 

“ What could they do with me I” contin- 
ued the mineralogist. “ ’Tis the young and 
happy ; those who have prospects of happi- 
ness before them ; whose usefulness may 
be of service to their country; such as 
have honors and a worldly paradise in 
store; these they seek to destroy, not the 
old, nor the infirm ; they would not have 
charity to confer the favor of death upon 
such ! But be not dismayed, I had ex- 
pected you. I know the sea-weeds of the 
current. But swear one thing, to me, and 
then, like Paul of old, I am ready to be 
offered up.” 

The mineralogist became pensive, and 
tears fell from his eyes, as he seemed agi- 
tated by some powerful emotion ; at length 
he resumed. 

“I see that you assent, I grieve in heart 
and spirit, that all my studies and labors 
may be lost forever, unless I can raise up 
a disciple to propagate and enforce them, 
but thou wilt be taken up with the pursuits 
of the world, with woman’s love ; I cannot 
change thy inclinations, but I have a claim 
on thee — not of a parent, not of a guardian 
— no ! — my whole life has been one of pe- 
cuniary sacrifice, of personal martyrdom, 
in order that my science should succeed, 
and that you should bb fitted to become its 
noble patron. I would not confine you to 
details. It requires patience and great 
industry, a mind and body suited to hard- 
ships and privations. The student of 
nature must be morally and physically 
constituted for a successful prosecution of 
his profession ; his moral endowments 
must be duly equipoised ; and his physical 
structure not lack courage, endurance and 
strength — no sickly and mawkish sensi- 
bility to be turned aside by the cant and 
dissimulation of those who make it a trade 
to work on the sympathies of others — no 
strong social bias towards the society of 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


175 


friends — no desire to cavil about creeds in 
religion; nor a stickler for this or that 
ppticular tenet in the parties which 
divide politicians. The student must be 
the mountain torrent, which will not be 
impeded ; he must be the subtle undermin- 
ing quick-silver which seeks'* the smallest 
crevices through which to make its escape. 
It takes many ages to make such men as 
Aristotle, Bacon and Shakspeare, and 
pvithout disparagement to others, or egot- 
ism,) such a compound as the humble in- 
dividual who now addresses you concerning 
the great utility of his grand and scientific 
discoveries. Think you I could not have 
shone in the camp, or the cabinet ; in the 
forum or the cathedral — on the seas — in 
paintings, in architecture, in astrology, 
physiognomy '? In gallantry or any other 
department of acquirements or science 1 
doubt it not; I will not add that he who 
doubts is damned ; but hear me ; I prefer 
the simple title of mineralogist to that of 
lord or marquis ! Have I not foretold, by 
astrology, the destinies of the house of 
Walden] Have I not fought in private 
rencontre] and sought to march 'with 
IMarcus Coldfire for thy rescue ] I have 
warned in and out of season. I have writ- 
ten much — I have drawn in architecture, 
and wrought curious workmanship, in iron, 
brass, and silver ; and more, I have told 
the hidden disposition of men, with their 
secret tendencies, and their bias to any 
leading vice, their secret devil ; and who 
hath not a demon, a master vice, which 
stands forever whispering in his ear, urg- 
ing and prompting to certain deeds] and 
who hath not skill, aptitude, promptitude 
and energy, over all others, in some trait 
or disposition ] how have I told these ] 
when you look for fruit, you look not to 
•the trunk, but rather to the top; so in' 
man ; you smile ! but the day will come 
when the head, in which concentrate all 
the senses, will be looked to, to furnish 
indices of the man. Does the physician, 
the mineralogist, the astronomer, look out 
upon their respective spheres of action ] 
so hereafier, men of this science will tell 
you who are the honest, the envious, the 
profane; the mark of Cain would not be 
more certain ! You look out upon the hea- 
vens and predict succeeding events; why 
have our faculties been adapted for the re- 
ception of impressions ] — what is instinct ] 
you smile, but I am sad ! Truth lies deep 
when covered under the rubbish thrown 
on it by the speculative ; truth seems 
stran^-e because so few have the courage 
to discard the erroris of others, with which 


it is so often commingled. But, these mo- 
ments are precious, let me exhort you to 
walk through the fiery furnace, before you 
yield to the exactions of your oppressors. 
Then my heart will no longer ache with 
the apprehension that my discoveries are 
to be neglected, and my writings muti- 
lated, misinterpreted and misapplied.” 

“ I hope,” said Julian, with great solem- 
nity, “ that you may long live to prosecute, 
with the love and approbation of all good 
men, your flivorite studies.” 

“ Let me embrace you once more,” said 
the mineralogist ; “ but were you in power 
and I dependent, I would scorn myself for 
this evidence of human affection. I now 
conclude, 

“ 1st. You, Julian Onslow, are hereby 
constituted the patron and friend of my 
mineralogical schemes and discoveries, 
which are not to be published or divulged 
unless by my consent, or after my death — 

“ 2d. In order that you may obtain the 
necessary rights and means for its prosecu- 
tion, I state — 

“ Hark !” said the mineralogist, “ you 
hear the drum. It is the signal for a few 
hours’ respite from this vile prison; the hot 
sun of autumn and the smell of the fresh 
earth is some respite, even if accompanied 
with the mortification of casting up fortifi- 
cations against our own friends. I can tell 
you no more — wait — be patient — be firm.” 

The routine of prison discipline, (when 
the keenest inventions were put into requi- 
sition to harass and oppress American pri- 
soners,) can be faintly imagined by those 
who look into the history of the times, so 
replete with the heart-rending details of 
the kind. * 


CHAPTER XLV. 

Is this all? 

Hast thou no gentler answer? Yet bethink thee, 
And pause ere thou reiectest; 

Byiio:^. 

The arrival of Major Walden and com- 
panions at Forest Hill, affo/ded a full op- 
portunity for Col. Conway to show his 
courteous manners towards his friends. 
The stubborn features of Major Walden 
were imbued in tears when he embraced 
the last relic of his parents — his only sis- 
ter; and Cato and Prudence poured out 
torrents of gratulatory welcomes and re- 
joicings. These meetings, how they 
checker the monotony of life, and add a 
stir and bustle at once new and pleasant 
for a time ! . 


176 


ONSLOW, 


Early in the evening, after the arrival 
just noticed, a parcel of huntsmen with 
their train of dogs came in, for the purpose 
of taking a deer hunt on the next morning. 
Not the least prominent person amongst 
these was the renowned Dr. Caius C. Cain. 
Of course all of the Hill, from the yard to 
the parlor, exhibited signs of bustle and 
hilarity. 

During a conversation which sprung up 
on the cruelty of hunting, in which Miss 
Jemima Peabody look a part. Major Wal- 
den ventured to say, 

“ I hope. Miss Peabody, you are not so 
much of a Quakeress as never to resent or 
to assume a bellicose attitude.” 

“ I would not refuse to marry a gentle- 
man who might deem it necessary to de- 
fend his sovereign,” replied Miss Jemima. 

“But,” continued Major Walden, “sup- 
pose he was an old bachelor, a Whig, and 
sometimes compelled to fly to the swamps, 
would you not promptly reject the offers of 
such an one P’ 

“ I should like to take time to think on 
such a question,” replied the governess, 
“ but if you are personally concerned,” 
continued she, blushing and trembling, and 
attempting to conceal her agitation, “ I 
should not require more than two or three 
days.” 

“You start home I believe, uncle,” said 
Edward, enjoying the joke, “ day after to- 
morrow.” 

The Major, in attempting to be a little 
gay, had launched a little farther than his 
own feelings deemed proper ; and the whole 
company enjoyed the embarrassment of the 
two. 

“ Then,” said Miss Peabody, laboring 
hard between the .recollection of her re- 
peated declarations, and her always real 
design, “ I answer (as I am not allowed 
time, in the affirmative, believing it to be 
my duty, even at the hazard of being called 
a little too candid.” 

“Suppose we send instantly for Mr. Mil- 
ligan,” said Edward, with mock solemnity. 

“The deuce!” replied his uncle, “you 
mean his little sparrow of a daughter.” 

“ Agreed ! agreed !” reiterated Edward, 
attempting to hide his blushes, which evi- 
dently betrayed the true state of his feel- 
ings. 

Miss Peabody, partly overcome with the 
extraordinary courage she had exhibited, 
and partly to show a becoming degree of 
delicacy on such an important occasion, 
rose to leave the room. 

Major Walden saw his awkward posi- 
tion, and determined to remove any misap- 


prehension of his intentions on the part of 
the governess. 

“I hope, miss,” said the Major, “you 
have not misconstrued my question 1” 

“ Certainly not, sir, I am too candid, and 
generally say what I mean, and I have not 
the slightest doubt that you are a man of 
your word.” 

“Yes, madam,” replied the embarrassed 
Major, “ at all times, and under any cir- 
cumstances, a man of my word ; but let me 
tell you, that I have no more idea of offer- 
ing myself in marriage, than I have of ac- 
knowledging King George as my lawful 
sovereign, or of joining the infernal band 
of Tories now plundering the country.’’ 

During this unpleasant annunciation. 
Miss Peabody turned almost green, and 
held the corner of her mouth to hide the 
convulsive quivering of her nether lip. 
She must have fallen, butCapt. Gant sprung 
to her relief. Amidst this scene of confu- 
sion, Dr. Cain declared that she was not of 
the right mould to go into an apoplexy. 
“ Nothing,” continued the Doctor, “ but a 
case of idiosyncrasy, a monomania on ma- 
trimony ; apply the tinctura ferulse asafm- 
tida compositfB freely. Thank God 1” 
ejaculated the Doctor, attempting to enter 
the sick room, “ I shall be able now to 
heap coals of fire on the head of her who 
treated me so unkindly.” 

“ I ’ll die first,” shrieked the half frantic 
Miss Jemima; “ send the brute away with 
his fire and poison.” 

The Doctor immediately retreated, and 
left Mrs. Conway to manage the governess 
in her own way. 


CHAPTER XLVI. 

The healthy huntsman, with the cheerful horn, 
Summons the clogs, and greets the dappled morn. 

The distant mountains echo from afar, 

And hanging woods resound the flying war. 

The tuneful noise the. sprigluly courser hears, 

Paws the green turf, and pricks his trembling ears. 

Gay. 

The huntsmen ate an early breakfast by 
candlelight, and long before sunrise, Cato 
and Sampson reported that the horses were 
ready, and that their respective packs were 
in place. 

Felix, who had gathered considerable 
lore on the subject of deer hunting, was 
disposed to take an early st^rt, because as 
the moon went down early, the deer would 
lie down whenever darkness set in ; and 
as the dews might be light, it was neoessa- 
ry to be in the drive before they were off. 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


177 


He further urged that he was for no half 
way measures, his standing motto was for 
deer-hunting, “ From twilight to twilight.” 

“ Blow your horn, Cato ; lead the way. 
Col. Conway; and recollect, Dr. Cain,” 
continued Major Walden, as he mounted 
his horse, “ that I am your rival in the 
killing art to-day ; on any other occasion I 
shall yield the palm of victory.” 

“ You except the case of last evening,” 
replied the Doctor in a chuckling laugh. 
“And you think, Felix, the deer watch the 
moon day and night 1” continued the Doctor, 
well pleased with his own wit. 

Felix made no other reply than hy a loud 
blast on his horn, which was answered by 
the deep mouths of the joyous and frisking 
hounds. 

Whoever has been devoted to the chase, 
knows full well that it is an art of no easy 
attainment. It requires a good ear, steady 
nerves, endurance, courage, ardor, patience, 
and quick tact and combination. The gov- 
ernment of the horse, the peculiarity of 
each leading dog; the tacks the deer will 
make ; the probable course the other hunts- 
men may take ; their capabilities and skill ; 
when to risk your own shot, or to hold up 
for another chance ; the effects of the wind 
‘Upon the sound of the dogs, and the course 
of the deer. 

Cato, who professed to be well skilled in 
these matters, advised Capt. Gant and Ed- 
ward to stick to the dogs, as being most 
likely to give a chance for a shot, as they 
roused the game. Col. Conway, as soon as 
they reached the hunting ground, under- 
took to post the several gentlemen at pro- 
per st!&.nds. 

Cato amused his two young friends by 
expatiating upon the qualities of his dogs. 

“ That hard-headed dog yonder,” said 
he, “ knows I like him, and he presumes 
over his latitude, just like an ill-bred nig- 
ger, when he ai’nt used to too much kind- 
ness ; I ’ll take him a buttonhole lower 
some of these times. That ’s Goliah ; he 
came from your grandfather’s old stock, 
sent to him from old England. That 
speckle long lank blue dog, is a cousin of 
Goliah, and his name is Blue Beard, after 
the king who capitated off all his wives’ 
heads; he is the best cold trailer in the 
State. I wish you would hold back your 
dogs, young man !” vociferated Cato to 
Sa^mpson. “ And that is Vixen, full sister 
to Blue Beard ; she is death for varmints 
and fawns ; she never stops until she 
lifts a trail, and hangs out as long as Go- 
liah. Gem’men, the next one is brother 
to Goliah, all black, except the tips of his 


feet and the end of his tail ; look what 
a rich color of gold just above the white on 
his legs, and on his jaws ! his name is 
Leader ; if he ai’nt so cold as Blue Beard, 
he is as sure, and if he is not as swift at 
the first hop, he comes out a little ahead 
of any of them ; and if he is not as quick 
to jump the game as Vixen, he will be 
mighty apt to sound his horn as soon. The 
rest are all good : the meanest in my pack 
is royal to any of Sampson’s adulterated, 
half-crossed pack; picked up from every 
nigger quarter, and poor white men, who 
hadn’t bread to feed them. Look out ! 
look out !” shouted Cato, “ there's been a 
deer ab%it here.” 

Sampson’s pack began to give tongue 
after a rabbit, which produced some confu- 
sion and galloping. 

“I wish the whole pack were back at 
the quarters where they were raised,” said 
Cato, cracking his whip, and riding in the 
midst of the whole, and dispensing some 
heavy blows on that portion of the wing 
which his young friend had failed to sub- 
ject to the proper discipline. “ Friend 
Sampson,” said he, “ you must excuse me ; 
you must teach your bays a little better 
manners ; you will please keep them back, 
and fall back into the rear, until I spring 
the game ; then come up if you can.” 

At this instant. Dr. Cain came galloping 
up in fine spirits, vociferating aloud, 

“ Where is the buck 1 I heard the dogs 
and several reports of the gun.” After 
hearing the explanation, he continued, 
“ What an explosion ! What a proficient 
in the use of the whip ! Cato, you are a 
great man ; you are at the head of a pro- 
fession.” 

“ Your horse is frank and ready to the 
spur,” said Gant. 

“ A fine charger, sir, valiant and strong ; 
a little too restless, owing to the flies,” 
replied Dr. Cain. 

“ Get back to your stand,” said Cato, 
“you’ll get a fall fiora that headstrong 
and blustering wagon horse. Tie him, and 
stand on the yearth whenever you under- 
take to shoot, or you’ll get' your brains 
dashed out before night.” 

“ Well ! well ! every man to his profes- 
sion,” said the Doctor, taking his gun and 
bridle together in his hands, and urging 
his heavy charger over the grubs and 
bushes nearly at full speed. 

“ A pretty huntsman that, riding like a 
sailor and talking about horse flies this 
season of the year ; I doubt whether he is 
a soldier, to be calling the crack of a whip 
the port of a gun ! Look, Massa Edward,” 


178 


ONSLOW, 


continued the talkative commander-in-chief 
of the dogs, “ at Leader ; see him licking 
the bush to revive the scent ! I wish I had 
time to tell you how Leader there was 
nursed and cluck’d at by a hen, just the 
same as if lie had been a little chicken ; 
you ’ll understand his mother had her 
whelps close to a sitting hen, and some 
how the eggs either got broke or sucked, 
and the hen sot until she got tired, so she 
took up with the puppies, and had all the 
actions towards them, in every respect, 
just the same as if they had been chickens ! 
Gallop to the right and to the left, they 
have struck the trail !” exclaimed Cato, as 
the full pack began to fill the woods with 
their deep' notes. On they dashed in full 
and furious cry ! the whole air was alive 
with one incessant yell ; Sampson’s pack 
joining in, and all taking the direction to- 
wards the stand occupied by the redoubt- 
able surgeon, the sound of whose gun was 
heard high above the cry of the dogs. 

“ Go on — go !” exclaimed the surgeon to 
Edward and Gant. “ I have killed and 
wounded a regiment ! I saw some of them 
fall — I know I have killed and wounded 
several, for I shot at the whole squad.” 

Cato in vain cracked his whip — his two 
friends and his pack were leaving him. 

“ There ’s bloood, T know !” he exclaimed, 
“ and all creation can’t stop them.” 

After commanding Sampson to stay 
back, and blow his horn, he exclaimed, 

“I must go! Charge, Gun wood !” and 
away went Cato and his charger in hot 
pursuit. 

The other huntsmen hearing the hounds, 
and the report of Dr. Cain’s gun, and find- 
ing also that the drive was empty, were 
summoned by the shrill note of Colonel 
Conway’s horn to collect; and Doctor 
Cain ordered Sampson to answer witli his 
loudest and longest notes, declaring that 
immense injury, not only to the game, but 
also to himself and his gun, had been done. 

“ Some of your masters doings, Samp- 
son, by overloading my gun; ’twas the 
only revenge he could take on me, for 
pumping out his windy conceits on deer 
hunting.” 

“ Where is your game, doctor 1” in- 
quired Col. Conway, when he and the 
other huntsmen had come up. 

“ Gone on, like the winds, sir — retreating 
with flags flying.” 

The Colonel, after hearing this account, 
examined the ground and the range of the 
shot, and finding the marks of blood,' he 
pursued them some hundred yards or more, 
when he found a deer. 


“ The Doctor has won the day I” he ex- 
claimed. 

The valiant and excited Doctor rushed 
forward to the scene of his spoils, puffing 
and blundering up to the wounded deer, 
although cautioned not to be too precipi- 
tate — the consequence was, that whilst 
the doctor attempted to examine the splen- 
did expanse of horns, the enraged animal 
made a desperate spring, overpowering and 
rolling him to the ground. Col. Conway 
shot the buck through the head, and it 
tumbled over on the prostrate son of Escu- 
lapius. 

After the affrighted Doctor had somewhat 
recovered from his perilous situation, Major 
Walden insisted that he should be initiated 
into the mysteries of the craft. It was in 
vain that the doctor declared that this was 
his first, and should be his last effort in 
deer hunting. But the company was in- 
exorable ; and the only mitigation, in con- 
sideration of the great risk he had run, and 
the short space of time he intended to be- 
long to the clique, w’as, that previous to the 
application of the reeking buck’s hide to his 
ample frame, he might be pillowed either 
the privilege of drawing off his fine coat, 
or of wrapping his saddle blanket over his 
body. He chose the latter, as least ob- 
jectionable, declaring that, as his wardrobe 
was scanty, and materials of a suitable 
quality this side of the Atlantic scarce, 
he should avail himself of all means to save 
its texture. 

“ This is a dry land ducking,” said the 
Doctor, heaving at the smell of the reeking 
hide; “a real crossing of the line. Oh! 
take off the badge of graduation. I am 
sick — yes, deadly sick !” 

The overpowered doctor lay at the root 
of a tree, whilst the other huntsmen pro- 
ceeded to prepare the deer to be taken 
home. 

“ Six years old, if we may judge from 
the number of his antlers,” said Colonel 
Conway. 

“ That may be true, until they acquire 
that age — but after that they do not num- 
ber a prong for each year ; and it is well,” 
continued Walden, “ or their heads would 
become unwieldy, and retard their progress 
materially in escaping from danger.” 

Felix about this time returned, and stated 
that the whole of Cato’s pack were out of 
hearing. 

“ They are all gone,” said he, “ as if the 
world was on fire behind them ; they will 
run down the game, and we had as well 
return home.” 

On the arrival of the remaining hunts- 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


179 


men at Forest Hill, Doctor Cain, after in- 
quiring after the health of Miss Peabody, 
ventured to ask about his former patients. 

“ Your patients,” replied Mrs. Conway, 
“ took bag and baggage, to use a military 
phrase, the day after you consigned them 
to the care of Doctor String Halt; they 
rifled the larder, telling the old people, 
Cato and Prudence, that you had recom- 
mended them to fly from an up-country 
quack, as they would from the pestilence.” 

“Every word a lie. I am always re- 
spectful to my chirurgical brethren. Let 
me see,” said Doctor Cain, mounting his 
goggles, “ if I have them on my registra- 
tion map — they must be punished for the 
imprudent exposure of their lives, and the 
disrepute they may bring down on my no- 
ble profession.” 

“ They are both well, and in service ; 
they preferred the risk of the camp to the 
danger of the hospital, and I think,” con- 
tinued Notwood, “ they made a wise 
choice.” 

Major Walden, finding that Edward 
had not returned, came to the conclusion 
tliat, having pursued the dogs towards the 
neighborhood of Mr. Milligan’s, he might 
have taken Gant on with him to see the 
young ladies; and his visit, having been 
extended to its proposed limit, he took 
leave of his relations, requesting them to 
state to Edward that he might follow him 
when he found it convenient. 


CHAPTEPv XLVII. 

No ! fooled by cunning — ^by that happy art 
Which laughs to scorn the blundering hero’s heart; 
Into the snare shall our kind neighbors fall, 

With open eyes, and fondly give us all. 

Chueciiill. 

Major Walden, in company with Not- 
wood and Felix, arrived in the evening 
after the hunt at Mrs. Ashburn’s. Not- 
wood had promised him a safe and unmo- 
lested passport from thence to his own 
neighborhood, and the Major, anxious to 
obtain the co-operation of one so capable in 
his proposed arrangements at the Syca- 
mores, had yielded his assent to accompany 
him to see his lady, and to spend a pleasant 
evening in the house of the hospitable Mrs. 
Ashburn. 

During the night, after they had retired 
to bed. Colonel Clannagan, from a previous 
arrangement with Notwood, made his ap- 
pearance, with a band of his followers, and 
demanded an interview with Ashburn and 


Notwood. Felix, on learning that he de- 
manded that Major Walden should be 
placed in his hands, swore tiiat he would 
fall with his dead body over his guest, be- 
fore such an outrage should be committed 
on his hospitality, and the honor of his mo- 
ther’s house; and he immediately sum- 
moned his mother to enforce his deter- 
mination. She, with a becoming degree 
of courage, declared that she would rather 
see her house in flames, than submit to 
such an outrage upon lier private rights. 

“ Private rights, madam,” said Clanna- 
gan, with a bitter smile, “ shall be respect- 
ed. It is exactly the claim I have on your 
rebel guest. My private rights have been 
postponed, until they are considered dead 
and buried— but I mean to have a resur- 
rection of some of them. Go to bed, ma- 
dam ! I will wait until the miscreant clears 
your lands — nay, until he has in his heart 
forgotten you and your hospitality.” 

“ Nay, Colonel Clannagan, he remains 
here until I am satisfied of his safety,” an- 
swered Mrs. Ashburn. 

“ Yes,” replied Felix, “and I now call 
on Major Notwood to fulfill the promise he 
made to Major Walden ! Surely, Major 
Notwood, you cannot intend to deceive 
"him 1” 

Notwood affected to fly into a passion at 
such an insinuation ; he frankly owned that 
he had made such a promise, but contended 
that he was unable to enforce it, and there- 
fore threw himself upon the generosity of 
Col. Clannagan. 

But Clannagan was too eager to clutch 
his prey to yield it up without a struggle, 
and Notwood found that he had to play a 
double game. To Clannagan he urged 
privately that he had as much dislike to 
Walden as he had, but that it would be 
best to compromise the matter by lodging 
him in the jail at Ninety-Six. To this pro- 
position Clannagan with great difficulty 
was brought to yield a reluctant assent. 

To Felix and his mother he urged the 
immediate necessity of despatching an ex- 
press to the fort, demanding from the com- 
mandant an escort for a prisoner, whose 
life otherwise would be in danger from 
violent enemies. After he had effected 
this arrangement, he agreed to convey its 
result to Major Walden, affectedly con- 
gratulating Felix and his mother upon the 
advantageous terms they had made in favor 
of their guest. 

Major Walden was in a profound sleep, 
when he was roused up by Notwood. He 
sprung to his weapons, demanding the 
cause of his interruption. The waking 


180 


ONSLOW, 


moment is often accompanied by the mas- 
ter feeling of the mind — the past — the fu- 
ture — the abiding idea of life ! Whatever 
rules and regulates the ruling propensity, 
cannot get into full play in an instant — 
hence, many require time to comprehend 
the immediate circumstances which sur- 
round them. 

After Major Walden had ascertained his 
true situation, he demanded of M^jor Not- 
wood the proposed safe-guard, or such or- 
ders to Clannagan as would prevent his 
molestation on his way home. 

“ Know you not. Major,” was Notwood’s 
reply, “the character of your adversary! 
He has vigilance, promptitude, and deter- 
mination. I cannot control him ! But I 
have already accomplished much in your 
favor.” 

“ You will recollect the unsolicited of- 
fers you made me ! I am now in your 
power — your own sense of honor must de- 
termine the proper course.” 

Notwood, with apparent sincerity, as- 
sured his victim that he was unable to con- 
trol those of the royalist party, goaded on 
by revenge and a desire of retaliation, pro- 
duced by the mutual ferocities and cruel- 
ties of both parties. 

Major Walden flatly denied that the 
Whigs had been guilty of the crimes al- 
ledged against them, and Notwood was not 
disposed to add renewed causes of irrita- 
tion to the man he had already betrayed. 

The valiant little Buck Tidder, of Bee- 
tree memory, was despatched to the fort, 
to procure the necessary escort, having 
been duly directed how to demean himself 
by Mrs. Ashburn. Although closely ex- 
amined by Colonel Clannagan, he succeed- 
ed in passing without disclosing the import 
of his visit, having taken a basket of vege- 
tables as the ostensible object for his trip ; 
and being well mounted, he lost no time in 
reaching the place of destination. 

In due time the escort arrived, and Not- 
wood, at their head, prepared to conduct 
the Major to Ninety-Six; but they both 
had to pass under the fierce eye of Clan- 
nagan, who warned Notwood of the danger 
in any attempt at circumventing him. Ac- 
cusing NotWood, at the same time, of hav- 
ing attempted to deceive him. He and 
Major Walden passed glances of mutual 
hatred. 

“ I ’ll meet you at the gallows yet, my 
old friend, some of these days.” 

“ If it were not too great an honor con- 


ferred on you, I should say. Amen !” re- 
plied the Major. 

On the arrival of the Major at the fort — 
it being a part of the scheme to cause him 
to yield to the particular designs of Not- 
wood — he was conducted into the yard 
amongst the other prisoners. 

“ Ha !” exclaimed the mineralogist, 
breaking out into a wild laugh — “ the 
fortunes of the house of Walden are has- 
tening to their consummation ! But the 
crimes of the family will require blood ! 
Mark my prophecy ! You rejected my 
offers of peace ! Conway followed the 
same fatal track ! Perish in your ob- 
stinacy !” 

“Your accursed schemes,” replied Wal- 
den, with mingled scorn and rage, “ are 
to be accomplished. You will first ruin 
myself and Edward, and then you and your 
bastard son will be swung up for the crows 
of the field.” 

Notwood interposed, to arrest the mu- 
tual ill blood which was springing up; he 
wished no open rupture, and taking the 
Major aside, he proposed, as his situation 
would be a disagreeable one, (having been 
ordered, since his arrival, to detain him as 
having disregarded the Proclamations of 
Lord Cornwallis,) to give him his choice, 
either to become a prisoner at the fort, or 
to give Colonel Conway as his security for 
his good behavior, with permission for him 
to live at his brother-in-law’s. 

It was in vain that Major Walden ob- 
jected to the right of the parties to make 
new conditions, after having deceived him. 
He was given to understand that the con - 
ditions were sufficiently lenient, and ad- 
mitted of no grounds for cavil or argument 
With this narrow field for a choice, Not- 
wood was left to manage matters in his 
own way, and he determined that Major 
Walden should become the inmate of Col. 
Conway’s house, provided that the Col. 
would stand responsible for his non-belli- 
gerent course. It was further determined 
that these conditions should be instantly 
made known to Col. Conway. 

It is sufficient to remark that in a short 
time the proper pledges on the part of Col. 
Conway were given — it being no part of 
his creed to stand out against the wishes or 
demands of Clannagan and his confeder- 
ates. He sent the unwelcome news to 
Major Walden that he had not heard from 
Edward, Gant, or his servant, since their 
disappearance on the day of the deer hunt. 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


181 


CHAPTER XLVIII. 

The wished for time is come — 

To sliow your valor, friends— beina: to do, not talk. 
All rhetoric is fruitless, only this— 

Fate cannot rob you of deserved applause, 

Whether you lose or win in such a cause. 

jMassinger. 

The approach of Moriifan and Green liad 
produced one general flame amongst the 
well disposed inhabitants of South Caro- 
lina, and the universal rush of the militia 
to the standard of the former, gave a new 
impetus to the unrelenting and unmitigated 
cruelty and despotism of the upper portions 
of Carolina, still under the yoke of their in- 
vaders and their Tory associates. 

But the daring and the desperate felt a 
congeniality of disposition towards Mor- 
gan, and they broke through every ob- 
stacle to join this partisan officer, whose 
valor and success had become proverbial. 

Major Walden was one amongst those 
whose fiery zeal led him to fly to the 
standard which gleamed on the confines 
of the State, inviting the sons of the South 
to rally to the rescue of their liberties. He 
had already spent several weeks under the 
roof of his brother-in-law ; and although 
frequent couriers had passed between Mr. 
Milligan’s and Colonel Conway’s, yet no 
new light had been thrown on the disap- 
pearance of Edward and his hunting com- 
panions since the first day of their absence. 
All was conjecture and darkness as to the 
means or the motives which had led to such 
an unexpected occurrence. 

Major Walden became convinced that a 
horrible plot had been formed against him. 
INotwood’s recent conduct — the threats of 
Clannagan — the dark and mysterious lan- 
guage of the mineralogist, confirmed him 
in the belief that he was to become the 
victim of a deep and dangerous intrigue — 
and that Edward had already been sacri- 
ficed — whilst Julian was the willing pup- 
pet in the hands of the conspirators. Smart- 
ing under these feelings, and roused by 
that indomitable spirit of resistance which 
entered so largely into his composition — 
feeling a keen relish for revenge on those 
who had recently taken possession of his 
lands and negroes, in a state of complete 
exasperation he determined to run all 
hazards, rather than remain inactive. 

After seeking Bucklebelt, and asking 
him to bury the past, with tears in his 
eyes he spoke of his fears concerning the 
fate of Edward. 

“ Let us risk every thing. Life is short, 
at best — glory endures forever! Rouse 

13 


every boy who can stagger along with a 
musket ! You are a happy man ! Offer 
up your boys to the glorious cause ! My 
Edward is already sacrificed, and I am 
ready to follow him I” 

Many who had taken paroles, which by 
the tyrannical fiat of military despotism 
had become obsolete, rushed to the im- 
pending conflict. These were stirring 
times, and the flame of patriotism, like the 
unextinguished spark in the seemingly ex- 
tinct embers, was kindled in the hearts of 
our countrymen, by every breeze which 
bore the sound of cruelty or success. 

That headlong partisan. Col. Tarleton, 
came up with Morgan at the Cowpens, 
about the middle of January. The latter, 
irritated by the hot pursuit which had been 
kept up for a day or so, determined to chas- 
tise the temerity of his adversary, by no 
longer avoiding a battle. The ground 
chosen is said not to have been the best 
for riflemen, affording many advantages 
for Tarleton’s superior numbers in ca- 
valry. 

On the verge of the battle the hero of 
the Cowpens, a man of lofty courage, im- 
bued with a full belief in his success, 
availed himself of the momentous crisis. 
He extolled the militia — spoke of his own 
riflemen. 

“ Two volleys, my brave comrades, well 
aimed, will secure the victory. Good for- 
tune always follows our standard. Now is 
the crowning moment — our retreat has 
lulled them into security.” 

To the continentals, he said — 

“ Recollect what I tell you I Victory is 
certain I Your enemies are fatigued ! Our 
militia will retreat — be not alarmed — that 
is our orders.” 

General Pickens, at the head of Ma- 
jors Cunningham, McDowell, and others, 
amongst whom was Major Walden, were 
advanced in front, with orders to feel the 
enemy — retreat — keep up a desultory fire 
— fall back to the front line, and eventual- 
ly to range with it, and renew the attack. 

The two armies were nearly equal in 
numbers. The British officer was confi- 
dent of success, and the shout raised by his 
troops was answered by the shrill horn of 
Morgan, which, like the wild cry of the 
eagle, towering ready to rush on its prey, 
forboded sure destruction. t 

The contest became obstinate — the ene- 
my’s reserve were pushed into the hottest 
of the conflict — every movement of the 
Americans, whether in retreat, or change 
of position, only resulted in new and unex- 
pected shocks to the enemy. The sturdy 


182 


ONSLOW, 


frame of Major Walden was seen dealing 
blows by the side of his companions, and 
taking vengeance on his adversaries. 

Captain Bucklebelt, leaping from his 
horse, seized the bayonet of a wounded 
soldier, and charged at the head of the 
corps of the immortal Howard, dealing 
death and carnage amongst the enemy. 
This decisive movement proved so dis- 
astrous to the foe, that they never reco- 
vered from the shock and confusion brought 
on them. 

Cold fire was one of those who were in 
the grand charge made by Col. Washing- 
ton, whose zeal carried him so far ahead of 
his squadron, that Tarleton turned upon 
him with his seventieth regiment. Now 
it was that three British officers, seeing 
Washington thirty yards in advance of his 
regiment, determined to destroy him. 
Whilst this act of daring was in pro- 
gress, Coldfire boldly charged a small 
party rushing to assist the three officers 
of the enemy. The officer on the right 
of Washington, whilst raising his sword 
to cut him down, had his arm shattered 
by a blow from a sergeant, and it fell 
powerless to his side. The officer on the 
left aimed at the same time a blow, but 
Washington’s waiter, though too small to 
wield a sword, discharged a pistol, which 
wounded and drove off this assailant ! 
Tarleton, who was the middle one, made 
a desperate thrust at Washington, but he 
parried the blow, lopping off his memora- 
ble finger ! The desperate royalist, how- 
ever, succeeded in wounding his intrepid 
adversary in the knee. 

This complete and decisive victory esta- 
blished Morgan as one of the ablest com- 
manders of his day; whilst it added im- 
mortality to those brave officers who so 
nobly offered their best exertions in the 
trying scene. 

Morgan, finding himself pressed by 
Cornwallis, who suddenly changed his 
views after Tarleton’s disaster, detailed a 
portion of his militia with the prisoners, 
arms, stores, &.C., towards the mountains. 

And now commenced that ever memora- 
ble display of the goodness of Providence 
towards the American forces. The retreat 
over the Broad River, the Catawt^, the 
Yadkin, the Dan, of the great Southern 
army, and its pursuit by the enemy ; the 
rise of rivers after one had crossed, and 
before the other had come up ; the very 
waters seemed to await the movements of 
the two armies, and, like the Red Sea, to 
be managed by the agency of a supernatu- 
ral hand ! Similar instances are related of 


other propitious incidents in the American 
wars for liberty. For instance, when the 
General-in-chief left Trenton, and fell on 
Princeton, the freezing of the ground was 
so sudden and complete, as to allow him, 
contrary to advice, to carry away his 
cannon. 

The faithful band under General Pick- 
ens, amongst whom were Walden and his 
friends, after various marches, (and after 
having by stratagem drawn Col. Piles and 
his Tory associates in their power, cutting 
up ninety-six of his men without the loss 
of a man,) was relieved on the 6th of 
March, by Col. Clark, one of the heroes of 
King’s Mountain. 

These brave and harassed militiamen 
returned home, to hear of the usual ex- 
cesses. The system of robbery had been 
carried to a great height in the neighbor- 
hoods of Ninety-Six, and those bordering 
on the Savannah, as well as Broad river, 
lying in Georgia. 

Colonel Conway was one of the suffer- 
ers — a party of Tories, under the pretext 
of punishing him for allowing the escape 
of Major Walden from his care, had, by the 
direction of Clannagan, taken his negroes, 
and run them off to Augusta, whilst he had 
narrowly escaped with his life, being com- 
pelled to fly to the woods for safety. 


CHAPTER XLIX. 

How pale was then his true love’s cheek ? 

SUENSTONE. 

Right, I have none ; 

’Tis force, when done, must justify the deed. 

, Dryden. 

The reader recollects the memorable in- 
terview between Clannagan and Notwood, 
at Mrs. Ashburn’s ; that the wily magi- 
cian cowered under the threats of Clanna- 
gan. Although his vanity was wounded, 
yet he learned that he would be counte- 
nanced in his plans; and he was never 
known to cavil unavailingly, when he had 
any important matter to lose or gain. Fe- 
lix, on that occasion, was more strongly 
drawn into the toils of his pretended friend. 
The unfortunate and confiding Diana 
Dashwood had entrusted her affection for 
Felix, to her insidious and dangerous advi- 
ser, who, whilst he flattered her hopes, de- 
termined from the worst of motives that 
Felix should never be her husband. With 
a seeming regard for his happiness, he had 
already mingled falsehood and truth so art- 
fully, as to cause Ashburn to withdraw 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


183 


from the prosecution of his suit at such a 
stage, and under such circumstances, as to 
prevent a wish on his part to have an in- 
terview with Diana, lest he might have to 
give an explanation of his perfidy. Not- 
wood had both in his power ; neither dared 
to speak openly on the subject. It would 
be revolting to record the deep and dark 
designs which led him to this deliberate 
fraud upon the two lovers. The stain 
which clings to the memory of the perpe- 
tration of crimes against such a group, in- 
cluding the wife, the friend and the confid- 
ing victim, cannot be washed out by tears, 
nor effaced by time ! The meshes woven 
to hide guilt, and the skill to entangle the 
innocent, are seldom sufficient to answer 
either design. Alas! that the lessons of 
the past are still lost upon the world. — 
Once entered on the stormy current — once 
mingling amidst the foaming waters and 
projecting rocks, the excitement and the 
confusion did not allow time for cool re- 
flection, or the necessary monitions of rea- 
son and conscience, to make an effort to 
let go the frail bark — give up the cherish- 
ed enterprise, and cling to some object 
which offered a chance for an escape from 
the threatening and perilous voyage ; the 
skillful execution of one design seemed 
only to whet Notwood’s desire for the pro- 
secution of another. 

Felix and his equipage were again call- 
ed into requisition to visit the Sycamores, 
first taking Forest Hill in the route. Nut- 
wood, after reaching Col. Conway’s, cau- 
tiously approached Miss Peabody ; he fear- 
ed her apparently cold and unbending dis- 
position ; he had seldom met with her pro- 
totype in society, but like a skillful assayer, 
he applied the proper tests ; he found a 
pliant and congenial spirit ; and the next 
morning, he led the weeping governess to 
the carriage, after she had taken leave of 
her friends, with those feelings of melan- 
choly which ever attend the final separa- 
tion of persons ; even if there had been less 
respect and friendship than existed be- 
tween her and those she left at Forest Hill. 

Walden had been lodged in jail, and next 
required to close with such conditions as 
would involve his brother-in-law in ruin. 
Clannagan was busily fulfilling his part of 
the plot against Gant and Edward Conway. 
Julian and the mineralogist were to be held 
up for future vengeance. 

' Notwood loved excitement, and he at- 
tempted the dangerous scheme of obtaining 
the control of St. Ille Grayson. The heart 
of Felix was to be re-warmed and played 
upon; Miss Peabody was to be made a 


willing accomplice in the execution of his 
part of the preconcerted arrangement with 
Clannagan. The fortune, too, of Miss Gray- 
son was too large to be despised ; the time 
for action had arrived. 

In times of civil strife ceremony is out 
of place, and Mrs. Grayson and her daugh- 
ter were not displeased at receiving their 
unexpected visiters. The governess, no 
longer under the eyes of Mrs. Conway, be- 
came a new creature. She seemed a cor- 
rect record of all the crimes committed in 
the district by either party, in the last 
twelve months. She joined Notwood in 
urging St. Ille to visit Camden ; whilst 
the latter, with deep earnestness at a con- 
venient moment, actually alarmed Mrs. 
Grayson into the determination of sending 
her daughter under the care of Miss Pea- 
body, to keep out of danger and the law- 
lessness of the contending parties. He of- 
fered his own services at any moment, for 
the good of the family of his old compatriot 
and friend. Matters went on swimmingly, 
and his heart throbbed with joy when he 
saw Mrs. Grayson take the affectionate and 
parting kiss of her daughter. St. Ille shed 
tears of real regret, and departed not with- 
out some distrust ; she feared the vivid eye, 
the smooth bewitching smile of the chief 
actor ; she still recollected the niffht scene, 
the warning of Bucklebelt ; she thought of 
Julian, shuddered and fell back agitated 
and pale in the carriage. 

Notwood foresaw that Felix would, from 
vanity and love of consideration, soon have 
most of the fashionable part of Camden 
visiting the beautiful belle from the Syca- 
mores. He schooled him and Miss Pea- 
body, on this important point; whilst at a 
suitable time, he heard the important de- 
claration from St. Ille, that she wished to 
receive no company ; and he straightway 
established it as her command. 

The chain was still incomplete, it was 
necessary to have the governess identified 
more closely with the royal cause ; her am- 
bition was excited to figure at intrigue; 
and Felix, in furtherance of his own suit, 
was directed to bring Dr. Cain as a lover 
to her feet. Tarleton was consulted and 
his wishes acted as a command on Dr. 
Cain. Miss Peabody was flattered by the 
officers at her prospect of becoming the 
wife of one of the main pillars of the royal 
cause. She was told that she would be 
able to command and dispense favors. — 
That she ought to have a protector ; that 
according to the established and conven- 
tional rules of society, whilst single her 
sphere of action and usefulness would be 


184 


ONSLOW, 


necessarily circumscribed ; but once mar- 
ried, she could act on a broader theatre, 
untrammeled by the formalities of her pre- 
sent situation. Rashness and precipitation 
often arise from too much caution and cir- 
cumspection ; extremes are sought, to es- 
cape from painful recollections and the 
dread of indecision of character ; and Miss 
Peabody thought that she was escaping all 
accusations of conscience on these points, 
when she yielded her consent to change 
her beautiful name. Suffice it to be relat- 
ed, that the two inveterate waiters on Pro- 
vidence were duly married by the chaplain 
of the army, under Lord Rawdon. The 
ceremony was private, and took place be- 
fore a few friends one evening, about twi- 
light, a fortnight after the arrival of Not- 
wood, in Camden. Joy! joy! to Mrs. Je- 
mima Cain and her noble consort, the re- 
doubtable surgeon to Col. Tarleton’s caval- 
ry forces. 

Monotony is death to a spirit like Mrs. 
Cain’s ; excitement, thrilling and danger- 
ous, was preferred to inactivity ; the tense 
and active imagination heard too seldom 
the oft repeated warnings of conscience. 
She mistook the galling servitude under 
Notwood for power, and instead of being 
the chief actor, she was the mere puppet, 
in the hands of the adroit manager. 

St. Ille was narrowly watched for a sea- 
son, but it was time thrown away; she 
avoided all company, and the pervading 
tenor of her mind was grief and melan- 
choly. She thought despondingly on the 
last interview with Julian; his fate was as 
yet unknown, and she had heard nothing 
concerning him. She silently acquiesced in 
the decisions of her governess, and the 
very vein of gloom which grew and fasten- 
ed on her spirits, the very manner in which 
she hugged and endured her thraldom, was 
construed into a willing obedience. Time 
rolled on, no change, no news of Julian; 
not a word from Bucklebelt, — life became 
almost insupportable, and the visits of Fe- 
lix, backed by the voice of Mrs. Cain, in 
furtherance of his suit, (which were per- 
tinaciously pressed,) left her no other al- 
ternative than to rouse from the torpor 
which had preyed upon her spirits, and to 
dismiss Felix, requesting him earnestly no 
longer to annoy her with his visits or at- 
tention. She went further, and demanded 
of him and Mrs. Cain, that her mother 
should be sent for, otherwise she would ap- 
peal to Lord Rawdon. They lost no time 
in making her demands known to Notwood, 
who had been of late too busy with the 
confiscations of estates, and with the in- 


roads of the rebels, to interfere with the 
well conducted and quiet fraud practiced 
at Mrs. Cain’s; but this unexpected new's 
alarmed him, he saw his danger ! he dread- 
ed the eloquence of truth and beauty ap- 
pealing to generous manhood ! 

He saw the fixed and stern resolve of 
woman’s love ; he dared not provoke the 
dormant energies of such a heart. He 
quietly resigned Felix to his fate, but he 
was yet unapprised of the ready willing- 
ness of St. Ille still to brave every impedi- 
ment for Julian’s safety. 

“ Ah ! my dear young friend, I sympa- 
thize with you; no one loves Julian more 
than I do, but I regret that he is now a 
prisoner atNinety-Six, liable to be tried for 
a high misdemeanor, a breach of his pa- 
role, and I am loath to tell you, that Col. 
Clannagan owes him no affection ; and I 
fear unless great exertions are made, he 
must be sacrificed to the vengeance of the 
laws.” • 

“ I will fly to Col. Clannagan ! yes, to 
Lord Rawdon, and beg them, on my knees, 
to spare his life.” St. Ille swooned, as she 
uttered those passionate words, and was 
causrht by Mrs. Cain as she fell from her 
chair. 

“ Time is precious with us,” whispered 
Notwood, “ we must promise to convey her 
home — she must be removed from this vi- 
cinity — promise her any thing; whilst I go 
and despatch Felix to Col. Clannagan.” 

The scheme was quickly arranged ; Mrs. 
Cain, with her maid, were to be placed in a 
hack with St. Ille, while Notwood and a 
couple of armed out- riders were to accom- 
pany them, as it were, to the Sycamores, 
but really to Mcllhaney’s. They departed 
immediately after Felix and his servant had 
been despatched homewards. 

Young Ashburn having proved so little 
gifted in the wmoing line under the guid- 
ance of his friends ; and having answered 
Notwood’s purpose so badly in the last in- 
stance, was kept ignorant of the main plot. 
By the way, however, of using him to the 
last moment, and to keep up his ideas of 
his own consequence, he was requested to 
become the bearer of certain important des- 
patches, connected with the public service, 
to Capt. Tidder; and in the event of not 
meeting with him, to deliver a letter to 
Col. Clannagan. But the unfortunate 
lover having arrived at home, and utterly 
disgusted with the world, and the things 
thereof, ordered Sampson to prepare him- 
self to convey the letters in his stead. 

It needs not to be told, that as usual 
every matter in such a case was not pro- 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


185 


perly managed. Sampson either did not 
receive the proper orders, or he jostled 
them utterly out of his memory, by the 
time he had reached the house of the wor- 
thy express bearer. 

“ lly jing,” said the little worthy, “ I tell 
you what, friend Sampson Ashburn, this 
letter is for the great Col. Clannagan, and 
not for such small fry as your humble ser- 
vant; take it back to your blind young 
master, and tell him to open his eyes and 
try again.” 

“ Read it ! read it. Captain !” said Samp- 
son, “;?rehaps I may assist in mitigating 
the mistake.” 

“ Well, read away, Ashburn! don’t you 
seel” continued Tidder, reading aloud the 
letter. 

“ Camden. 

“ Dear Colonel : — She ’s refractory ; the 
mountain air is absolutely necessary for her 
health and senses. As for young happy, 
who by-the-bye is any thing but Felix, he 
is too fin* gone for any further use ; he is not 
now worth the ammunition it would take 
to kill him at the distance of three feet — a 
mere puff— a fopling of sorry mental di- 
mensions. I have used him to the stubble; 
you may try the balance. To be serious, 
I wish a trusty guide. And to accompany 
the sweet rebel-loving maiden, an experi- 
enced, or inexperienced female. I shall 
be at Mcllhaney’s on Wednesday night. 
Any commands from you, will be faithfully 
executed. Ever, and truly yours, 

“ Stephen Not wood. 

“ Col. Benjamin Clannagan, 

“ By Felix Ashburn, Esq.” 

“ What a pity,” said Tidder, “ the poor 
girl is dying of love, and completely run 
stark mad about some rebel boy.” 

“You are wrong, Capt. Tidder, it is 
some rebel girl in love with master Felix, 
and he’s run mad too; and they are mak- 
ing fun about it ; I thought so, for he’s been 
roaring and singing all along the road in 
his carriage; till I was actually afeard we 
would have been mistook for a couple of 
drunken larks, just leaving Camden for the 
country, to cool out of a full soak of whis- 
key.” 

“ By jing, Sampson, we are both wrong, 
here is my letter,” said Tidder. “ To Capt. 
Timothy Tidder, by the politeness of Felix 
Ashburn, Esq. 

“ Exactly the point blank truth ! Well, 
I thought I handed you the right subscrip- 
tion,” said Sampson, leaning over, as if 
really able to read the direction. 


“ At Camden. 

Dearest Captain Tidder: — Meet me 
without fail, on Wednesday night next, at 
Mcllhaney’s, — bring your oldest daughter 
to visit the mountains in company with a 
young female friend. You shall be well 
rewarded — be silent. 

“ Yours, in friendship, 

“ Stephen Notwood.” 

“ Now,” said Tidder, “ I am not to be 
fooled by Notwood ; in one letter he says 
the girl is raving mad ; in mine, he calls her 
a young female friend. I am not so plaguy 
blind, as to place my daughter too close, to 
be infected with that love sickness ; for I ’m 
a Dutchman, if the girls are not apt enough 
to take such ailments at home, without be- 
ing sent abroad to find patterns, or to be- 
come inoculated.” 

Sampson handed the silver sent by Not- 
wood, to the little express ; who, stimulat- 
ed by such an unexpected sight, broke 
forth into the following strain — 

“ Well, by jing, times are getting a lit- 
tle better ; or else this is a nefarious plot, 
full of danger and rascality, and requires 
good heads to manage it. The letter, too, 
is a negotionable and promissory note, col- 
lectable and suable, in any of His Majesty’s 
Courts. By jing. Light- wood-knot, we’ve 
had a small resting spell, but they can ’t do 
without us. Master and horse are again 
up to the bridle-bit in business.” 

Sampson departed, bearing the letter to 
his master, which betrayed to him the man- 
ner in which Notwood had written to Clan- 
nagan, and the poor requital returned for 
his devotion to an ungrateful and design- 
ing friend. 

Tidder, after carefully hiding his money 
about his person, took leave of his family. 
He could but suspect that all was not right ; 
conjecture after conjecture were vainly 
made ; he mused and tallied to himself, ar- 
riving at nothing definite. An end how- 
ever was put to his colloquy, by suddenly 
overtaking the well known form of Edir 
Immerson. 

“ Which way, stranger 1” inquired Tid- 
der, in a familiar tone, as he held out his 
hand, riding close up to her. 

“ What new schemes of villany and mis- 
chief are on foot 1” inquired Edir sternly, 
“for,” continued she, “you and your horse 
are ever the index of Clannagan’sand Not- 
wood’s malicious intentions.” 

“ Always mad and scolding,” said Tid- 
der, flattered by the salutation, “and if it 
warn’t bad manners to a lady, I might tell 


186 


ONSLOW, 


you that I never think of you without feel- 
ing- my throat, and recollecting about that 
night I was so ghost ridden. Oh ! come, 
do n’t frown so, for I swear it was a real 
goblin ; but I ’m proud to see you, you ’re 
the very person to manage the poor girl, 
that ’s run mad in love with some rebel or 
other; I must have your advice, as you 
may have had similar infections in your 
time, and may be able to give something 
suitable in such a case. 

“ Aha !” said Edir, after reading Tidder’s 
letter, “ he wishes your daughter to go on 
a trip of pleasure. Never! never!” said 
she, looking steadfastly at him, “I tell thee 
your daughter shall not go.” 

“Never!” replied Tidder, catching her 
enthusiasm, “I would die first, and her 
brothers, and mother, and even herself 
would die first. But,” continued he, after 
he had related the contents of the letter to 
Clannagan, “ I am sure the poor girl is to 
be pitied, for she is refractory mad, and 
I ’m mortal fraid of people with any kind 
of bewitchments, especially if they come 
from the heart ; because,” said he, in a mel- 
ancholy tone, “ I ’ve a notion that a 
schorched and burning heart, will print 
itself on another, just the sun does itself 
in the water.” 

“ Ah !” replied Edir, “ and the first 
cloud that passes, the first night that comes, 
and the image is effaced ; so with the 
smiles and sympathies of man.” She paus- 
ed as if greatly agitated, then continued, 
“ And you, Tidder, betrayed Julian 1” 

“ I swear,” replied Tidder, bursting into 
tears, “I did not intend him any harm ; I 
declare before high Heaven, I did not know 
his pretended friends intended to betray 
him ; I was forced against my conscience.” 

“ Enough ! enough !” said Edir, “ it is 
now too late to complain. Beware, Tidder ! 
you are again taking part against the in- 
nocent — against St. Tile Grayson !” 

Tidder stood aghast at this unexpected 
intelligence, and he almost shuddered at 
the accusations of his own mind ; he at 
length exclaimed, “ I ’ll be cut into ten 
thousand pieces ; I will hide out in the 
thickets and be starved ; yes, I will give 
up my calling, and let the royal army go 
to the devil, before I will aid in harming a 
poor sweet girl like her.” And he actual- 
ly turned his horse, to give up his intended 
and cherished purpose, when Edir seeing 
his intentions, caught at the idea of aiding 
St. Ille, and effecting her design, through 
the agency of Tidder. 

It may be considered extraordinary, that 
she should have penetrated the secrets of 


Notwood, but she had just had an interview 
with Bucklebelt, who had returned from a 
late expedition, in which he gave her an 
account of Notw’ood’s visit to the Syca- 
mores, as well as St. Ille’s departure to 
Camden. Edir was already acquainted 
with the capture of Julian, and the place 
of his imprisonment ; and the letter to Tid- 
der, and the more extraordinary one to 
Clannagan, confirmed her fully in the be- 
lief that some design was on foot against 
Miss Grayson. 

Tidder, having been assured of the friend- 
ship of Edir, agreed to hasten ahead, and 
prepare Notwood for the employment of 
her as a guide. The party had already ar- 
rived, and the stir and bustle at the Wolf 
Pit, (a name by which Mcllhaney’s place 
was sometimes called,) plainly indicated 
that the good lady had been taken by sur- 
prise. The little express w’as joyfully re- 
ceived, and soon made the necessary ex- 
cuse to Notwood for not having brought his 
daughter with him ; laying perhaps the 
blame correctly on the fact, that she had 
not the necessary requirements for such a 
trip. 

Notwood hesitated to engage the services 
of Edir, until Tidder peremptorily refused 
to go with him unless she went. He de- 
clared that he knew nothing of the way, 
and that Edir knevV every foot, by path or 
woods. 

No sooner did Tidder ascertain the arri- 
val of Edir, than he brought her and Not- 
wood, face to face. So soon as he retired, 
she said to Notwood, — 

“ You wish to go to Tower-Rock — to the 
hills,” and she drew close up to liim and 
whispered, “ perhaps, to the prison house !” 
As he drew" back with alarm, she continu- 
ed, “ Be not afraid of me, I know McQuirk, 
I know" the path. But why take a carriage 1 
why take ladies'? have they, too, turned 
rebels to the king '? why take St. Ille Gray- 
son from her mother 1 from her home and 
friends ?” 

The strong light which gleamed through 
the kitchen chimney, showed Edir that 
she had pressed her questions too far ; that 
slie had struck a chord, sensitive and quick 
in the bosom of Notw^ood ; and she attempt- 
ed to repair her imprudence by saying, — 
“ Perhaps ’t is well ; some wild boy of the 
rebel party may deceive her, and you are 
determined to prevent it.” 

“ You are right, no rebel or traitor shall 
ever wed suqli a jewel ; the daughter of an 
old friend, who has voluntarily sought my 
protection ; but how did you know her'?” 

“ How did I know her '? did I not ask 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


187 


her name? did she not tell me that she 
was going to see her mother at the Syca- 
mores ?” 

This was all true ; for Edir, determined 
to ascertain the truth of her conjectures as 
to the person hinted at in the letters, had 
gone int(9 the room, and rather unceremo- 
niously satisfied herself on that head. 

“ All is right ! all is right !” whispered 
Notwood, breathing less hurriedly, “ you 
are the best guide I could have obtained ; 
Tidder is unacquainted with the way, and 
withal is such a babbling fool, I will send 
him to Camden.” 

Edir caught at the last words and said, 
“Yes, leave the babbler behind, I can lead 
you on the right way without him and 
she left Notwood, to go and urge Tidder 
to fall in with the determination she had 
just heard expressed. 

Early the next morning, Tidder found 
himself at the head of a couple of out-riders, 
and conducting the carriage which was 
conveying the late governess back to Cam- 
den. He much preferred this new arrange- 
ment, as it kept him more within the range 
of social enjoyments, and added a shade of 
consequence not displeasing to his vanity. 

St. Ilte was not a little surprised at the 
unexpected arrangements, and expressed 
it to Notwood and to Mrs. Cain before she 
departed. They lost no time in assuring 
her that some accounts of an alarming na- 
ture had just been received, which made it 
necessary for safety that they should change 
the route and the mode of traveling. 

Edir, as she pursued her journey on foot 
by the side of St. Ille, (who had been fur- 
nished with a gentle and docile beast to 
ride,) embraced an early opportunity of 
leading her into the designs of Notwood. 
She was exhorted to patience and- forti- 
tude; and Edir gave the best evidence 
of her devotion to her safety, when she 
spoke of Julian, and the deep interest taken 
by herself and Bucklebelt in his welfare, 
and their recent determination to make an 
attempt at a suitable time for his release 
from imprisonment. 

How strange are the operations of the 
human mind ! St. Ille, now that she had 
an object for hers to grasp and contend 
against; now that she had ascertained Ju- 
lian’s situation, and the only chance for his 
escape, (altliough it was scarcely possible,) 
summoned up her resolution, and assumed 
a gaiety and vivacity which astonished and 
delighted Notwood. He hoped that she 
was becoming pleased with the journey ; 
but this was only a momentary hope, for 
there was in her manner and her keen 


searching eye, that which caused the prac- 
ticed courtier to cower and draw away 
from any attempt at familiarity, and he 
pursued and ended the route, showing at 
least the exteriors of a polished and re- 
spectful gentleman towards her. 


CHAPTER L. 

Vet for all this so full of certain passions, 

That if once stirr’d and baffled as he has been 
Upon the tenderest points, there is no fury 
In Grecian story, like to that which wrings 
His vitals with her burning hands, till he 
Grows capable of all things for revenge. 

Maeixo Falieeo. 

Immediately preceding the celebrated 
interview already referred to in the last 
chapter, which took place at Mrs. Ash- 
burn’s between Notwood and Clannagan, 
the latter, ever prompt and energetic, urged 
by the dread that Capt. Gant might exer- 
cise some control over the better sort of 
royalists, (smarting too under one or two 
rebukes, recollecting his kindness to Ju- 
lian, and his more recent visit to Forest 
Hill,) determined to include him in the 
contemplated capture of Edward Conway. 
This was the more necessary as he might 
interpose in behalf of Edward. He had 
just executed his designs upon the two 
absent huntsmen and the faithful Cato, 
through the agency of one of his partisans, 
and a select number of followers, when 
he found Notwood somewhat reluctant to 
carry out the previously arranged mea- 
sures against Major Walden. It was on 
that occasion that Notwood learned what 
was expected of him ; and although some- 
what tardy in executing his part of the 
contract, he nevertheless acted in the 
end with sufficient promptness to make 
amends for any previous lukewarmness. 
He had already been apprised that Edward 
Conway and Capt. Gant were safely lodged 
in the stronghold of the Tories, and he 
now sought the place of their imprison- 
ment. 

After due precaution Notwood succeed- 
ed in reaching the settlement called the 
Tower Rock, or Camp House ; which was 
deep amongst the hills, bordering on the 
country inhabited by the Catawba Indians. 
This secluded and buried sppt had been 
well chosen by Clannagan and McQuirk 
for the safe keeping of their captives, and 
as a hiding place when too hotly pursued 
by the Whigs. Near it resided Ohilca 
Hightower; said by some to be a distant 
descendant of the tribe near which he 


188 


ONSLOW, 


dwelt. It was his house which had so often 
afforded Edir Immerson a shelter. It was 
here, amidst the wulds of nature, that she 
acquired her cognomen of “ daughter of 
the woods;” and it was here, no doubt, 
that her mind became so imbued with its 
strong and deeply marked energies. Ohilca 
(as he was generally called) and his wife 
had an only daughter, the beautiful and 
artless child of the forest! Kelonah was 
the constant companion of Edir, and she 
imprinted her own enthusiasm and love of 
nature on the glowing feelings of her be- 
loved charge. 

The taciturn character of Ohilca, his 
great fidelity, his immense muscular pow- 
ers, and unrelenting hate, were well known. 
Clannagan lost no time nor opportunity in 
attaching him to his cause; and hence the 
reader may infer, that his known friend- 
ship for Edir was the passport which al- 
lowed her so often in the very jaws of 
danger ; and watched by the most vigilant, 
and acute as she must have been, to exe- 
cute her daring efforts, shielded as it were 
by some unseen hand ! Hightower having 
recently lost his wife, determined to take 
his only child and remove from the scenes 
which recalled the recollection of his mis- 
fortunes ! McQuirk learning his design, 
prevailed on him to move to the Camp 
House. The absence of Edir, (who had 
become so deeply interested in the welfare 
of Julian,) and the unsettled state of the 
country, determined his resolution. 

Such were some of the facts connected 
wuth the immediate vicinity of Tower- 
Rock. Notwood found on his arrival, that 
McQuirk had been ordered suddenly, with 
his small force, on important business ; and 
that Col. Clannagan had permitted the re- 
lease of Capt. Gant. This unexpected state 
of affairs did not add quiet or repose to 
the turbulent feelings of Notwood ; and he 
quickly determined to leave St. Ille under 
the immediate care of Ohilca, who had 
been left in command by McQuirk, whilst 
he flew back to supervise the points more 
likely to menace him nearer home. He 
held a short interview with Edward, and 
assured him that he would return and exert 
his utmost abilities for his release; and he 
facetiously apprised him, that he had 
brought a fair neighbor to keep him in 
spirits by her songs, if not by her presence ; 
and that when he returned to Tower-Rock, 
he hoped to have the pleasure of deputing 
him, as the gay gallant, to see the fair St. 
Ille to the Sycamores. 

“ I would sooner be your attendant to 
the gallows;” was the shoit and cutting 


reply of Edward, to these hollow and false 
pretensions. To St. Ille Notwood spoke 
kindly, and assured her of his continued 
protection ; telling her that if she would 
disavow an engagement with Julian, and 
give from under her hand a declaration 
that she would never marry him, she 
should be immediately conveyed to her 
mother. 

“ Leave me,” said St. Ille, “ I defy your 
malice! I will make no conditions — Julian 
will yet live to avenge my wrongs. Mark 
what I tell you.” 

“ Quite a heroine, and somewhat of a 
prophetess,” replied Notwood, as he held 
forth his hand to take leave of St. Ille. who 
turned herself from his proffered indication 
of respect, with unblenching cheek. 

No sooner had Notwood departed, than 
he began to dread the effect which Edward 
Conway might have over Ohilca. The 
more he listened to the suggestions and 
fears of his own mind, the more he deter- 
mined at all hazards to hasten forwards and 
send back a sufficient force to guard the 
prisoners. IMuch to his joy, he met Mc- 
Quirk on his approach to Mcllhaney’s, 
preparing to return to the Camp-House, 
whom he urged to proceed with haste, in 
order to guard against the arts and wiles 
of the prisoners, and the shrewdness of 
Edir Immerson. 

The very hour of Notwood’s departure 
from Tower Rock, was the commencement 
of Edir’s cherished plan for effecting the 
release of the prisoners. The apprehen- 
sions from the return of McQuirk and his 
squad, were well founded. She knew it 
was a fearful thing to tamper with the 
blunt honesty of Ohilca — but time was pre- 
cious ; and although no one could hope any 
suddeii inffuence over a nature so stern, 
marked by the strongest exteriors of indo- 
mitable courage and unyielding stubborn- 
ness ; whose dark and flashing eyes, long 
coarse raven hair, added to tire already fe- 
rocious countenance, which forbade lami- 
liarity ; yet in spite of his instinctive mo- 
roseness, Edir determined to make an effort 
to enlist him in her cause. She knew the 
proper hand to touch the chords. She press- 
ed upon Kelonah to join with her in behalf 
of the prisoners. Edward had already said 
to the gentle, the feeling Kelonah, “ Ah ! 
Kelonah, I have a sister, she is beautiful 
and young like yourself Oh ! that she 
was a prisoner with me, that I might hear 
her sweet voice, to soothe my bursting 
heart.” 

Kelonah wept — his words sunk in her 
heart — they thrilled every chord, and she 


A TALE OP THE SOUTH. 


189 


felt that she loved Edward Conway. Edir 
knew the state of her feeling’s ; she saw 
her standing at the knee of her stern fa- 
ther; she approached Ohilca, and boldly 
appealed to his parental feelings. She saw 
the stern man brush an obtrusive tear from 
his cheek. Kelonah fell on his neck, and 
urged him to pity the sweet St. Tile, and 
tlie noble and innocent Edward ; then 
weeping, turned to Edir and said, “ Ah, 
my mother — my only mother now — my 
father is perplexed, his heart is kind and 
melts at the misfortunes of the prisoners ; 
but he fears to betray his trust ; he seems 
in doubt what course to pursue.” 

“ What course to pursue 1” answered 
Edir, looking Ohilca in the face, whilst she 
seemed to pierce his very soul, “I tell 
^ee, Ohilca, these demons will betray you 
into crimes, under the plea of duty to your 
country. When have they asked” your ad- 
vice, or taken you into their counsels 1 
Look at Ivelonah ! look at St. Tile Grayson ! 
are they not both fair and beautiful as the 
flowers of these thy native hills 1 If they 
can make one a prisoner, why not the 
other, whenever they may choose to exer- 
cise their unbridled power 1 Did they not 
detain one of their own officers here, and 
is not Edward Conway, although a son of 
a royalist, held a prisoner I” 

“ My mind is made up,” said Ohilca, 
“ they shall be released !” Full round 
drops of perspiration covered his face, so 
strong had been the workings of his feel- 
ings. 

Kelonah fell on his neck, and wept for 
joy. Then suddenly springing up, she ran 
to tell Edward the pleasing intelligence, 
whilst Edir and Ohilca determined on the 
course to be pursued. 

It was agreed that Edir Immerson should 
start back to obtain sufficient assistance to 
cope with McQuirk, who was hourly ex- 
pected, and who would be able to overtake 
them, if .they were to succeed in any im- 
mediate effort at releasing the prisoners 
before they could reach the sycamores. 
Ohilca promised to meet Edir at a well 
known spot called the Giant’s Cave, about 
a day’s journey from Tower-Rock; she 
bringing aid to meet him and the two pri- 
soners, whom he proposed to conduct that 
far, with the hope of eluding the pursuit of 
McQuirk and his band, even if they should 
ascertain that the prisoners had made their 
escape. 

Having settled all the preliminaries, and 
the day of meeting at the Giant’s Cave, 
they sought St. Hie; they found her look- 
ing out upon the sun. “ Re of good cheer,” 


said Edir, “ the sun sets clear to-night, it 
augurs a fair to-morrow. She then whis- 
pered in St. Ille’s ea^*, perchance it was of 
liberty ! perchance it was of Julian ! The 
beautiful girl blushed deeply, and half 
smiling, threw her arms around Edir’s 
neck, and resting her face on her bosom, 
wept tears of joy. 

“ Thank thee, oh God ! for these few 
burning drops so long a stranger to my 
eyes,” said Edir, slowly wiping her face. 
Suddenly she took leave of St. Illc and 
ICelonah ; and ere bed-time she was wend- 
ing her way to seek succor for the vic- 
tims of the deep-laid fraud, which had 
hitherto seemed to prosper under its di- 
rectors. 


CHAPTER LI. 

As far as I have seen, we are enough 
To make the enterprise secure, if ’tis 
Commenc’d to-morrow; but till ’tis begun, 

Each liour is pregnant with a thousand perils. 

Byron. 

The reception of Capt. Gant at Forest 
Hill can be better imagined than described. 
The friend and companion of Edward in 
his imprisonment ; the ardent and faithful 
admirer of Cathena; and more than all, the 
noble and high-minded gentleman ; who, 
although just released from a situation 
which was calculated to have subdued the 
energies of a less buoyant and elastic mind, 
still ready and anxious to aid his friends, 
now in the hour of need. No marvel then 
if he was received and treated more in the 
light of a son, and of a brother, than as a 
friendly acquaintance, forgotten and for- 
getting, with the pressing moment. He 
with much earnestness induced his friends 
to leave their present residence, and take 
protection under the fort at Ninety-Six; 
•and by the time that Notwood had returned 
from his trip to the Prison-House, they 
were boarding with a family near the farm 
bouse occupied by the ladies of Colonel 
Cruger and Major Green. These two la- 
dies ai’terwards received a high E^d deli- 
cate favor from the besieging general, 
proving his gallantry equal to his bravery, 
in voluntarily affording them protection, 
whilst he vigorously laid siege to the fort, 
so gallantly defended by their husbands. 

Gant, disgusted and enraged with the 
Tory leaders, who had committed such im- 
pudent acts of cruelty against himself and 
Edward Conway, made complaint to Col. 
Cruger, and demanded redress. Having 
received an assurance of an immediate in- 


190 


ONSLOW, 


vestigation into the whole proceedings, as 
well as a promise that Edward and his ser- 
vant should be brought to Ninety-Six, he 
obtainbd permission for Julian to accom- 
pany him out on the evening of the same 
day in which he had received the promise, 
and he hastened to communicate the pleas- 
ing intelligence to those so deeply interested 
in it. At Col. Conway’s they met with the 
ladies already mentioned, who had come 
to pass a few social hours. They entered 
heartily into the efforts Capt. Gant was 
making in behalf of Edward Conway ; im- 
pelled not only from the native goodness' of 
their hearts, but by the deep sympathy 
which they felt for a family which had 
been so cruelly treated. 

Captain Gant had received the warm 
thanks of the Conways, and the congratu- 
lations of their friends, and was preparing 
to return with Julian to the fort, when 
they were all roused by a sudden and loud 
voice demanding, 

“ Who keeps house ?” 

“ Housekeepers !” answered the good 
woman who had charge of the house. 

“ Tell your company,” continued the 
same voice which had first spoken, “ I am 
a peaceable man and mean them no harm ; 
but I have good and sufficient reasons to 
request my two friends, Capt. Gant and 
Julian Onslow, to place themselves imme- 
diately under my protection.” 

“ The voice of Capt. Bucklebelt,” said 
Julian to Gant, “I must dissuade him from 
any act of the kind.” 

Gant attempted to escape out of the op- 
posite door, but was met with a bluff mono- 
syllable, “ Stop !” 

Whilst Julian and Bucklebelt were con- 
versing, the loud voice of the mineralogist 
was heard, 

“ Marcus Coldfire ! don’t you hear the 
guns of the fortl Don’t you hear the 
drums beating 1 The blast of the bugle 
for pursuit! Break off the parleyings of 
this thy friend, with long speeches and for- 
malities.” 

Coldfire and two of his associates, for he 
it was who spoke to Captain Gant, rushed 
in, and taking hold of him, urged him out 
at the door, amidst the loud screams of the 
good lady of the house, and the no little 
consternation of Col. Conway’s family and 
the ladies who were casually present. 

The mineralogist, after assuring those 
in the house that no injury was intended to 
any one, exclaimed — 

“ This stratagem of the valiant Coldfire 
and his associates will build up the science 
of mineralogy on its true foundation ! Pro- 


fit those who hear and believe ! Perish 
those who doubt ! The fires of hell are 
leaping to overtake us!” continued the 
mineralogist, seizing Julian by the arm, 
“ the bloodhounds will soon be upon our 
trails I I hear their horses’ feet I” 

And as the party hurried off with those 
they had captured, led by Coldfire, they 
could distinctly hear the voices of the dif- 
ferent parties sent from the fort to scour 
the several roads and passes. 

“ Be silent yourself,” said Bucklebelt, to 
the mineralogist, who seemed disposed to 
caress his long lost horse, re-captured by 
Coldfire from a royalist. 

“ What,” answered the mineralogist, 
“not speak a kind word to the beast 
which has borne me from the Schuylkill 
to the Saluda, without ever making a 
blunder! and who has worn out more 
rounds of shoes than you have children! 
Be it so! But I will soliloquize inwardly; 
for I do hear the accursed sound of hired 
assassins, anxious to carry out the behests 
of those who wish to destroy me, and |he 
mighty schemes I have in progress.” 

A few words will suffice to explain the 
escape of the mineralogist. The bold de- 
sign of Edir and Bucklebelt, to attempt 
the release of Julian, has already been 
adverted to. 

Edir, previous to falling in with Captain 
Tidder, had met with his son Buck ; and 
recollecting his fidelity and shrewdness on 
a former occasion, communicated her de- 
signs to him. The name of Julian acted 
like a talisman, and he promised to renew 
his visits at the fort, and to learn the ne- 
cessary particulars for effecting his design ; 
the modes of ingress and egress, and the 
lodging place of Julian. He held frequent 
interviews with Bucklebelt, and had ar- 
ranged his plans on the same night that 
Captain Gant and Julian visited the family 
of Col. Conway. 

No one was better calculated for such an 
undertaking — looked upon as a mere child, 
he was acute and shrewd, for one even of 
his age, and had all the zeal and abilities 
to execute which might have prevailed in 
more size, without incurring its hazards or 
suspicions, in such a dangerous attempt. 

The scheme of little Buck worked well, 
for no sooner had he discovered the coun- 
tersign — having overheard Gant as he and 
Julian came out, without knowing them — 
than he availed himself of his knowledge, 
and passing the sentinel, flew to Julian’s 
apartment — where he usually lodged since 
Gant’s return — and not finding him, sought 
the mineralogist, who, suspecting his de- 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


191 


signs, and ascertaining that Cold fire was 
concerned with him, immediately proposed 
to join him in search of Julian. 


CHAPTER LII. 

Thus let me hold thee to my heart, 

And every care resien ; 

And shall we never, never part. 

My life — my all that ’s mine. 

Goldsmith. 

None from his fellow starts, 

But playing^ manly parts, 

Stuck close together. 

Tiik Ballad of Agincourt. 

Bucklebelt, owing to his accurate know- 
ledge of the country, was enabled by the 
faint light of the stars to make his way 
near to the river, deep amongst the hills 
and valleys which lie along its side. 

After the proper guards were placed out, 
most of the party fell into a profound sleep, 
except the mineralogist, who, after rubbing 
and examining the limbs of his horse, made 
observations upon the different constella- 
tions, applying their different aspects to 
the destiny of those with whom he was ac- 
quainted. 

“Ah,” said the mineralogist, “no part of 
the night is so little noticed by mankind as 
the first hours after midnight, when silence 
and the weariness of man conspire to send 
them to repose. Too often the greatest 
enterprises are postponed for the approach- 
ing hour of daylight! Man is a timid 
animal in the dark. The distant roar 
of the shoals of the river— the occa- 
sional dripping of the accumulated dews 
from the trees — with the sharp twinkling 
of the stars, or the fierce blaze of a meteor, 
as it fell fainter and fainter in the air, 
were well calculated to produce a melan- 
choly state of feeling in the mineralogist. 

“ Beautiful stars !” said he, “well may 
ye weep tears of purity over the crimes of 
the day; and well may the angry fires of 
the skies leap forth to consume the filthy 
vapors which ascend from the earth. The 
church hath its wolves in sheep’s clothing, 
and there is not an acre of land but inno- 
cent blood cries for redress from its soil — 
and were it not that I have my great voca- 
tion to fulfill, my predictions to await, I 
would like to put off this mortality, and 
dwell up amongst your harmonious and 
soft silver beams. There is no pollution — 
no rivalship, in your mansions of purity and 
gladness.” 

The mineralogist looked round, and close 


to his side stood the tall figure of Edir Im- 
merson, with a drawn dagger in her hand. 

“ What!” said she, “ a deserter from the 
king’s prison, standing star-gazing in the 
very jaws of death? What brings you 
hither? Love of mischief — of peril? Where 
is Bucklebelt ?” 

And without waiting for an answer, she 
blew in the palms of her hands, making a 
loud and shrill whistle, which echoed 
through the dense air along the valleys 
and hills, rousing those that slept from 
their hard beds of repose. 

“ Desist, woman !” exclaimed the miner- 
alogist, instinctively preparing himself for 
an attack, “ or my duty will compel me to 
take thee prisoner, in the name of the king 
of Great Britain, and — ” 

“And what?” exclaimed Edir. “Are 
you not a friend to Bucklebelt? Is he be- 
trayed ? Speak ! for if you have betrayed 
him you shall die !” 

“Hold! Daughter of the W^oods!” ex- 
claimed Bucklebelt. “ I have met you, 
according to appointment. Good luck, 
beyond my expectations, has crowned my 
enterprise. We have rescued this good 
man and Julian from prison, and hold 
Captain Gant a prisoner.” 

“Where is the deceiver? He who 
swore, by his honor and his life, to rescue 
Edward Conway?” 

“ Judge me not too harshly, Edir Immer- 
son,” said Captain Gant ; “ I have deceived 
no one, and this very night, ere I was made 
prisoner, I had such promises made as 
caused me to hope that I should speedily 
have the happiness of restoring him and 
his faithful servant to his friends.” 

“ Then prove thy sincerity by volunteer- 
ing w'ith us. Not an hour is to be lost ! 
They are now on their way, and in con- 
stant danger of pursuit,” said Edir. 

“ I knew not the object of your enter- 
prise, Captain Bucklebelt,” said the miner- 
alogist, “ but put me dowm as a volunteer.” 

“No,” answ^ered Edir, “ we want none 
but the silent, the vigilant — not those 
w'ho can be taken on their posts, star- 
gazing !” 

“ He shall go !” said Cold fire. 

“Who have we here?” asked Buckle- 
belt. “Is this Fawk — the Tory and the 
patient ?” 

“ Tory, Whig, or Neutral, he shall go 
with us,” said Edir, imitating the manner 
and tone of Coldfire. 

“ It was to get him from the clutches of 
Clanna,gan and Mcllhaney,” continued 
Edir, “ that I was detained. He has taken 
up a strong inclination to find precious 


192 


ONSLOW, 


metals — a student worthy of his unexpect- 
ed tutor.” 

“ Then thou art well disposed towards 
mineralogy, and those who seek to benefit 
mankind in the discovery of the precious 
treasures of the earth ]” asked the miner- 
alogist, addressing himself to Fawk. 

“ I am in search of a trade, and would 
as lief, or a little liefer, follow the mak- 
ing of money as a livelihood !” answered 
Fawk. 

“The digging of the ore, you mean — 
not the coinage 1” asked the mineralogist. 

“ Cease thy prattle, Fawk,” said Edir ; 
“ time is precious ! And to cut the matter 
short, Ohilca has sent me ahead to collect 
a sufficient force at the Giant’s Cave, near 
the Great Falls. He may out-travel his 
foes for a day, but unless succor is sent, 
the captives must be overtaken and de- 
stroyed.” 

“ I am ready to join the party,” answered 
Gant, after having understood all the facts 
of the case. 

“ It is well,” said Cold fire. 

“ Ay, ’tis well !” added Edir. “ We 
are now ready for the rescue. Follow 
me! I must keep an eye on the path — 
on the craggy peak — on the deep thicket, 
and the grass itself! Silence and caution, 
or all are lost !” 

Such were the brief and ominous words 
of one whom all silently acknowledged as 
their guide — and on the evening of the 
second day after the company departed 
from the spot of their short and inter- 
rupted slumbers, Edir Immerson, with an 
air of exultation, pointed to a singularly 
romantic spot called the Giant’s Cave. 

On the east lies a considerable emi- 
nence, and on the west a high projecting 
peak shoots up in the shape of a pyramid ; 
far below, between these two projections, 
falls over a strong ledge of solid rock, a 
small creek, which often sends up its mist 
and spray, which form beautiful rainbows. 
And there are times when the moon pre- 
sents its fainter mimic ones to the gaze of 
the nocturnal visiter of the place. No 
wonder, then, if vivid imaginations should 
people such a spot with beings of their 
own creation ! 

It was a clear evening in spring, when 
the teeming earth begins to warm and ex- 
pand each flower — when the air is filled 
with the busy hum of insects — when the 
feathered tribes pour forth their joyful 
songs, and when the mighty sun sheds its 
subdued light and heat, so as to produce 
that peculiar and exquisite feeling, so 
nearly allied to gentle intoxication. The 


very horses of the party seemed as if they 
were led up to breathe a more animating 
atmosphere, and to feel as if they had sud- 
denly been transported to a more congenial 
clime. 

“ Rest here,” said Edir, “ until I ap- 
proach the cave and see if Ohilca has 
arrived with the captives.” 

A ravine descends from the Eagle’s Peak, 
as the western point was called, (which 
hangs with its rocks and small trees, as it 
were ready to fall oh the depths below.) 
At the base of this peak, and not far from 
the brink of the water-fall, it terminates, 
and empties the snow and rain which fall 
above. 

After winding round a large ledge of 
rocks to the lefC and in sight of the falls of 
the creek, is the mouth of the cave, having 
some thirty or forty feet of open space in 
front, Edir entered this spot, with a palpi- 
tating heart. It was almost dark, from the 
umbrageous foliage, which began to clothe 
the forest so thickly as to obstruct the 
rays of the sun. But she entered, and 
after her eyes had recovered from the 
shock of sudden darkness, returned to the 
company, with the melancholy tidings, that 
she could discover no traces of the arrival 
of Ohilca. 

Edir then conducted such as attended to 
the horses, a winding way into the semi- 
circular place, formed in the channel of the 
creek. These, with the aid of their knives 
and some vines, completely secured the 
horses, within a space sufficiently large to 
furnish them with cane and grass. 

The mineralogist was in ecstasies, as 
he seized handfuls of sand, and eagerly 
gazed on them ; imagining that they ri- 
valed those of the river Pactolus ; whilst 
his ill-starred pupil affected to be deeply 
interested in every motion he made. 

Gant was awed at the sublimity and 
grandeur of the scene before him — he was 
thrilled, too, by the motives which had led 
him amongst these wilds ; and he failed 
not to think of Cathena Conway — of her 
heart-rending fears for her brother ! 

Edir, after having conducted the party 
to the cave, disappeared. On the top of 
the highest peak, she stood, waving the 
branch of the cedar, bearing a bunch of 
white feathers, plucked from a bird, which 
the gun of Bucklebelt had brought to the 
earth. 

She looked with unwonted restlessness 
upon the calm sun, as he descended to rest 
in the waters of the west ; the streams of 
his beams shot off* into points, far to the 
right and to the left on the sky; as if 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


193 


some mighty promontory, deep below the 
surface of the globe, had projected forth to 
obstruct his course ! 

At length the deep blush of sunset faded, 
like the rich tinge, on the cheeks of those 
whose lamp of life too early goes out, when 
touched by the hand of remorseless disease ! 
The new moon, with its crescent of silver 
on a shield of pale blue, began to shed its 
feeble rays. “ Why does he not come V' 
she exclaimed, as star by star began to 
twinkle into life. “ He is not a liar ! he is 
a true friend ! The new moon is brighter 
and fairer, and portends calmness. It 
changed at the hour of midnight, which 
always brings good weather. Some evil 
betides him.” Such were the incoherent 
mutterings of Edir, as the signal still 
waved amidst the dwarfish growth of the 
peak, which overlooked the whole sur- 
rounding scenery. A wild and exulting 
whoop is heard ! — loud and long the 
echoes swell and reverberate along the 
hills and dells of the place. 

“ We are betrayed,” shouted Edir, (after 
waiting some time in suspense,) running 
down to her companions, “ be on the alert, 
for defence,” slie continued, hastily pre- 
paring for the expected assault. 

But she was soon gratified to learn her 
mistake ; for on the opposite side of the 
stream, she heard the well known voice of 
Ohilca, calling on her name. 

The mineralogist, who had placed a 
small smelting vessel on the fire, with the 
assistance of Fawk, was attempting to as- 
certain the richness of some of the sup- 
posed ores, hearing the last words of Edir, 
seized his gun, and was in the very act of 
shooting at Ohilca, who was seen moving 
on the margin of the opposite bank. 

“Hold, thou wizard of hell, with thy 
caldrons of magic,” exclaimed Edir, 
grasping the knife of the mineralogist; 
“down with your gun,” she continued, in 
accents which rung like the fierce peals of 
a rifle. In the scuffle, between the two, 
the gun went off, and Edir, maddened with 
the horrible idea of the murder of Ohilca, 
was about to drive the uplifted knife 
through the heart of the mineralogist, who, 
undaunted, still grappled with his furious 
adversary. But the powerful arm of Buc- 
klebelt, and the quick assistance rendered 
by the others, separated them, ere the 
sound of the gun, which fell like the burst- 
ing of an aerolite, had subsided. 

“I saw and lieard savages,” said the 
mineralogist; “ let us not die like Abner 
the fool ; why yield to the whims of this 
Indian Jczebell” 


“Thou fool,” retored Edir, in a laugh 
almost hysterical, “ I swear to avenge the 
death of Ohilca on thee.” Edir imme- 
diately sprung out of the cave, and Buckle- 
belt and Julian followed her. Gant in the 
meanwhile said to the mineralogist, “ you 
must ask pardon of Edir, she has shown 
so much interest in the affair because 
Ohilca has ever been her friend.” 

“ You mistake me, sir,” replied the mi- 
neralogist, with decision, I bow not the 
knee to Baal or his priestess. I bow not 
to the Hittites or the Jebusites ; nor to 
king George, himself, true friend although 
he may be to mineralogy.” 

Edir put an end to further discussion by 
returning with Ohilca, who was an object 
of great interest to the whole company. 
Julian, who had hitherto borne himself 
with buoyant spirits, now that he saw not 
St. Hie, leaned himself against the dark 
smooth rock of the cavern, a thousand wild 
fears preying upon his bosom. 

“ Rouse ye, Julian,” said Edir, “ this is 
no time to despond ! Rouse ye for the 
rescue ! our friends still live, we must fly 
to their assistance 1” 

A brief explanation, from Ohilca, sufficed 
to show that the prisoners were still at the 
Camp House ; that McQuirk, urged by the 
fears of Notwood, had returned before any 
scheme for their escape had been com- 
pleted ; and that Clannagan, with two or 
three others, had arrived on the day that 
Ohilca set out to meet Edir, according to 
appointment ; and that he had feigned a 
desire to hunt, for a few days, in order to 
conceal the object of his absence. 

“ Are there any precious metals in the 
hills and valleys, around the Camp House, 
whereof you speak!” asked the mineralo- 
gist. “ Yes,” replied Edir, fiercely, “there 
are bayonets and rifles, swords, pistols and 
bullets, and if you are a true soldier, you 
will seek for them !” 

“I was never afraid of the face of man, 
and if,” continued the mineralogist, “ my 
learned friends. Captains Gant and Buckle - 
belt, think that the right of conquest will 
give us a title to the lands, or rather 
the medals thereon, then am I ready and 
anxious to march forwards, without a mo- 
ment’s delay.” 

I am a dead man, to a dead certainty, 
then !” whimpered Fawk. 

“ But then there is hope for a poor fel- 
low that gets killed in a righteous cause,” 
replied Bucklebelt, encouragingly. 

“Yes, I know there is,” said Fawk, 
“but I can’t help having my fears; it’s 
what I have been dreaming about these 


194 


ONSLOW, 


two or three last nights ; but I hope the 
Lord will have mercy on me, if I should 
get killed in the righteous cause.” 

“ Let the coward and the dastard hesb 
tate,” said Edir ; “ who doubts that we are 
not to have fierce and busy work at the 
Prison House 1 there may even be a fulfil- 
ment of Fawk’s dreams on others, besides 
himself, but every moment is precious; 
and will strengthen our enemies.” 

“ Yes,” said Julian, “ our enemies, if not 
already apprised of our intentions, will 
soon be in pursuit of us. With the canopy 
of heaven above me, and a hand once more 
unloosed, I long to strike for liberty, and to 
avenge the wrongs of the innocent.” 

The party immediately set out for the 
Camp House, guided by Edir and the reso- 
lute Ohilca, those on horseback, being en- 
joined to observe the utmost caution and 
silence. 

The Camp, or Prison-House, was a strong 
double cabin, built out of large logs, hewed 
and notched down close to each other, ft 
had been raised two stories high, with a 
passage between the lower rooms. The 
doors of these rooms opened opposite to 
each other, and were exceedingly heavy 
and strong. A rough kind of steps, led up 
from the passage into the small middle 
room, between the upper stories; one of 
which was furnished with a narrow door 
leading from the middle room, and was the 
only way by which it could be entered. 
Back and east of the house stood a large 
projecting rock, reaching the length of the 
north room, and rising in height nearly to 
the middle of the one above ; the distance 
of the rock from the house was nearly fif- 
teen feet, and furnished the only means of 
reaching one of its upper rooms; this was 
effected by pushing a plank from the rock, 
until it lodged in a crack, between two 
logs, just below a small, strong window. 
A few out-houses were scattered around 
this strong castle of the Bloody Scout ; a 
position which had been chosen because of 
its difficult access, and the rock, which 
furnished them, not only a defence, but the 
means of reaching a strong and impregna- 
ble room. 

Ohilca, after having given the approach- 
ing party an accurate description of the 
different rooms, and their way of access, 
proposed to go forwards, whilst they re- 
mained a short distance, awaiting a signal 
to be given for the assault. 

The party had arrived, by hard travel- 
ing, near the Camp House by day light, and 
only waited the approach of sunrise, for 
Ohilca to execute his schemes. He pro- 


posed to approach the sentinels, in a friendly 
manner, and after having thrown out the 
priming from their guns, or deranged their 
flints, to fire off his gun, as a signal for the 
onset of his friends. But this arrangement 
was completely frustrated, through the 
agency of a countryman, going into the 
camp to carry provisions ; being alarmed at 
the sound of horses’ feet, at so early an 
hour, he crept near enough to overhear the 
whole conversation. He knew the voices 
of Ohilca and of Edir Immerson. 

Clannagan, thus apprised of his danger, 
made due preparations. The horses were 
saddled, and the soldiers, at the first sound 
of a gun, were ordered to charge and cut 
the attacking party in pieces. 

At the expected hour, the well known 
form of Ohilca was seen slowly and care- 
lessly advancing towards the front of the 
house. Clannagan had taken his station in 
the middle room, up stairs, to overlook and 
direct his men ; surrounded by well loaded 
muskets, ready to give his enemies a 
deadly reception. The two sentinels, who 
generally watched in front, were directed 
to get close together, and take Ohilca pri- 
soner. Ohilca seems unconscious of his 
impending fate — he halts! he hesitates! 
Through a crevice, in the upper, south 
room, a hand is seen pointing to the coun- 
tryman, and then to the sentinels 1 It 
seems to indicate, by its motions, that dan- 
ger is to be apprehended. The voice of 
Kelonah is heard, uttering the wild words 
of “ fly, fly ! my father ! you are betrayed !” 

Ohilca obeys the warning — like an ar- 
row he is gone ! The sentinels fire. Clan- 
nagan shoots, and raves ; and forth rush 
the horsemen, in full pursuit. 

Kelonah cries “ He is safe !” and falls in 
the arms of St. Hie. This ardent child of 
the forest had taken a deep and active part 
in the release of the prisoners ; and was 
constantly alive to every movement at the 
Camp House. She had heard the sound of 
the countryman’s voice, and was so fortu- 
nate, as to overhear the whole conversation 
between him and Clannagan. Being locked 
up in the same room with St. Hie, she had 
taken the only means left her, to warn her 
father of his danger. 

Fortunately Capt. Bucklebelt and his 
comrades were prepared for the reception 
of the enemy. They were certain that 
Ohilca had been foiled in his stratagem, 
so soon as they heard the report of the 
several guns; and they lost no time for 
defence, posting themselves behind trees ; 
by the side of their horses ; and the foe was 
alongside of them, receiving their well 


A TALE OP THE SOUTH. 


195 


aimed and deadly fire, before they were 
aware of their perilous situation. The 
shouts of the party, at that early hour, 
joined to the report of their muskets ; w’ere 
well calculated to strike terror in a soldier 
like McQuirk, whose proverbial reliance 
on the swiftness of a good horse was well 
known tliroughout the country ; apd may 
have accounted for the keen relish he 
always exhibited, in appropriating a good 
racer to his own use. The sight of Buc- 
klebelt and Coldfire acted like magic ! 
It transfigured trees into soldiers; and 
McQuirk led off his men with the belief 
that they were pursued by a band, who had 
an especial desire to overtake them. No 
wonder, then, if consternation seized upon 
them, when they found that their appre- 
hensions were likely, every moment; to be 
fulfilled, as the shouts of their pursuers 
rung in their ears. 

Whilst this' stirring scene was in pro- 
gress, a deadly one was enacted at the. 
Camp House. Three sentinels were with 
Clannagan in possession of the place. Edir 
and Julian, who had been sent to recon- 
noitre the Tower-Rock, and to watch the 
movements of the sentinel, who was con- 
stantly posted on its top, or at its base, no 
sooner heard the firing, than they rushed 
forwards to the succor of Ohilca. Julian 
had fired at the sentinel, and was rapidly 
approaching the house ; when he was met 
by the two sentinels, who guarded the 
passage and front of the house ; he parried 
the bayonet of the one nearest him, with 
his own musket ; and transfixed with its 
bayonet the other, who was advancing to 
the assistance of his companion. 

Then suddenly turning again, and clos- 
ing with the first, he threw him to the 
earth, and was in the act of discharging 
a pistol through his brains, when the wretch 
clamored loudly for quarters, at the same 
time shouting, 

“ The prisoners ! the prisoners are safe !” 

“Where are theyl” demanded Julian. 
“ Speak quickly.” 

“ There, there !” he exclaimed, pointing 
towards the rude stairway. 

It was fortunate for Julian, for at that 
instant Clannagan, (who had heard the 
number of guns, and the loud shouts, had 
become alarmed, and determined to secure 
St. lile, in the room which had its en- 
trance from the rock, and was dragging 
her by the hair down tbe steps.) They 
saw each other at theLsame moment, each 
fired a pistol. Julian drew his other one; 
but Clannagan, with a horrible oath, threw 
his empty and only w’-eapon at the head of 


I Julian, and snatching St. Ille in his arms, 
instantly disappeared. Julian was so stun- 
ned, that he was several minutes recover- 
ing. When he regained his senses, the 
sentinel had disappeared, and he was al- 
most in despair ; he fortunately thought of 
the Tower Rock, of the prison room, and 
making a desperate effort, reached there 
just as Clannagan was securing the win- 
dow.; he fired, but it availed nothing, 

“ Fool, fool !” exclaimed Clannagan, 

“ who has removed my muskets 1 my pis- 
tols I Caught in my own trap ; aye ! I 
removed them myself to the middle room 
this morning, when I brought Edward Con- 
way to his wooden jacket.” After a few 
moments’ stillness, he continued in a louder 
voice, “ Julian Onslow, you have overheard 
me — be not deceived, my hands are still 
free. I can strangle, I can grasp the 
swan-like neck of your own dear St. Ille.” 

“ Oh ! spare her, Clannagan ; make your 
own conditions. Speak quickly ! You 
shall have your horse, arms, a passport ! 

I swear before high Heaven !” said Julian, 
almost frantic at the appalling thoughts 
conjured up by the words and threats of 
Clannagan. 

“ A passport !” replied Clannagan ; “ ha ! 
ha! A passport from Julian to Colonel 
Clannagan, and he on his own Amulet. 
Give the wolf a passport to the lamb! 
Too young yet, Mr. Onslow — but hear me. 
Come, set the house on flames, and hear 
the screams of the rebel’s sweet-heart ! and 
the piteous whimperings of Edward Con- 
way for mercy ! Come, help me to get rid 
of the fellow who wished to thrust his feet 
into your own shoes. What say you to 
such a passport — for me and your two 
friends'!” 

“ Speak not thus, Clannagan — you will 
distract St. Ille. I am in earnest — make 
your own conditions !” said Julian, as he 
ran down the rock, to ascertain the cause 
of the loud noise he heard below. 

Edir Immerson, all this while, had been 
deeply engaged with her own troubles ; 
the sentinel from the rock having escaped 
the fire of Julian, was made to bite the dust 
by her musket; the countryman, seeing the 
fate of her victim, fired his gun at her and 
fled. Edir, enraged at his audacity, at- 
tempted to intercept him as he dodged 
around the out-houses for several moments, 
but he made his escape, and she ran to the 
assistance of Julian. Astounded at the 
dead sentinel, and hearing the shouts of 
some one in the room near where he had 
fallen, she seized an axe, and was hewing 
the door down, when it flew open, and the 


196 


ONSLOW, 


unfortunate Cato^ rushed out, his features 
distorted with alarm. The sentinel, whose 
life had been spared by Julian, scarcely 
less frightened than Cato now seemed to 
be, had taken the precaution to lock him- 
self up in the same room, the key of which 
he kept ; hence the source of the great up- 
roar, into which Julian came down to ex- 
amine. 

Kelonah, as soon as Clannagan opened 
the door to remove St. Ille, fled in the di- 
rection she had seen her father go, and 
found him leaning over the wounded and 
dying boy of the ill-fated Fawk ; she point- 
ed to the countryman, as he was just then 
making his escape from Edir Immerson. 

“There! — there is your betrayer!” she 
exclaimed. 

The hot blood of Oh ilea was roused — 
he seized the still loaded gun of Fawk, and 
bidding his daughter remain, with rapid 
strides went in pursuit of his enemy ; he 
knew the country, and as he approached 
the ford of a creek, not far from the Camp 
House, the flash and the report of his gun ! 
the tumbling of the corse from the fright- 
ened horse ! the blood-stained and bubbling 
waters! nay, his own feasted eyes, tell 
him that he has done his work of death, 
well and surely ! 

Just as Edir and Julian, followed by the 
sentinel and Cato, reached the top of 
Tower Rock, Clannagan looked out in 
front, and saw the party of Bucklebelt re- 
turning, with Ohilca and the mineralogist 
bearing the body of Fawk. Forgetting his 
own danger, he joyously shouted — 

“ Hurra ! for my mountain huntsmen ! 
They have brought down one rebel buck !” 

Then suddenly running to the side 
where Julian was, he changed his tone, 
saying — 

“ Look ! my mortal enemies are safe ! 
I would live a little longer yet, Julian ! 

I saw Bucklebelt and Coldfire — I would 
know their very shadows made by the 
moonlight. My horse, my good Amulet — 
he is in the nearest out-house.” 

Julian whispered a word in Edir’s ear — 
she hesitated. 

“St. Ille! My word of honor!” was 
rapidly uttered by him. 

“ I must see if all are safe,” said Edir, 
“before I consent for the wolf to leave the 
pit he has made for himself.” 

“ Come in, madam, and gratify your 
curiosity, for I am somewhat of the be- 
lief that it has already been at the bottom 
of this whole affair. Yes, curiosity ! curi- 
osity !” repeated Clannagan, peevishly — 


“ It is the favorite bait of the devil for 
catching mother Eve’s daughters!” 

Soon after Edir had entered the room, 
she returned to the window, saying to Ju- 
lian — 

“ All is right ! St. Ille and Edward are 
thrust into separate cells. I have spoken 
to each. Go, fulfill your bargain, whilst I 
release them !” 

And as Clannagan leaped out, she said 
to him — 

“ Go, wretch ! and teach tby followers 
new lessons in perfidy. Beware ! lest my 
curiosity should cause us to meet again !” 

Clannagan, as he and Julian passed on, 
with his peculiar smile, whispered — 

“ Our favors to each other to-day have 
been equal ; our accounts hereafter shall 
not be quite so well balanced.” 

“ You cannot provoke me to violence, 
now,” said Julian. “Obligations and fa- 
vors on your part are never spontaneous; 
they are ever the exactions at the point of 
the sword, extorted from fear.” 

“Extorted from the hope of future re- 
venge,” retorted Clannagan, casting a look 
of scorn at Julian. 

He mounted his noble charger, saying, 
“Speed! speed, Amulet !” Then dashing 
down the steep hill leading from the Tower 
Rock, pursued his headlong course, breath- 
ing revenge on those who had found and 
dispossessed him so unexpectedly of his 
stronghold. 

Julian, trembling with emotion, scaled 
the rock, and called the name of St. Ille. 

“ My long lost Julian!” she exclaimed, 
as he rushed into the prison room. 

The long separated lovers are in each 
other’s arms ! They shed tears of joy ! 
St. Ille rests on the bosom of Julian, like 
the emblem of innocence and repose ! She 
has fainted ! 

Julian implored Edir to bring water, and 
imprinted a kiss on the pale forehead which 
rested so quietly against his throbbing 
heart. 

“ Be not alarmed,” said Edir, “ the heart 
of the sweet girl is only surcharged with 
joy. Beware, Julian, that you never fill it 
with grief.” 

Edward, who ran after water, found St. 
Ille recovered. He brought the intelli- 
gence that their friends had returned, and 
wep anxious to congratulate Julian and 
Edir on their success. 

A general shout of joy burst from the 
brave and gallant band, as St. Ille ad- 
vanced, supported on either side by Julian 
and Edward. Kelonah greeted her and 


A TALE OP THE SOUTH. 


197 


Edward, whilst each noble soldier followed 
her example. 

“ Let us bury the dead, and immediately 
depart,” said Julian. “We know not what 
the chafed and raging heart of Clannagan 
may attempt. He has just obtained his 
liberty by base threats of violence on our 
friends whilst in his power; he still burns 
for revenge. 

“ He must find other followers,” said 
Bucklebelt; “ for his valiant steed cannot 
overtake those led off by McQuirk. A few 
may halt by the way, wounded in the back 
by the long shots of Lieutenant Coldfire 
and Captain Gant ; but a more determined 
and successful effort to interpose distance 
between themselves and danger, never was 
made by brave soldiers.” 

The dead were collected. A grave, 
supposed to have been dug for Edward 
Conway, was appropriated to the body of 
the unfortunate Fawk; and a well, which 
stood in the yard, served for the reception 
of the bodies of the two sentinels. Before 
they were buried, however, the mineralo- 
gist begged leave to say a few words. 

“ I lost,” continued he, “ my dear pupil, 
the worthy Sciolist, early in the conflict, 
whilst gazing with unmingled horror upon 
the raging battle. Alas! his presenti- 
ments, and the predictions of the Daugh- 
ter of the Woods have been fulfilled ; let 
us hope that he rests from all his earthly 
troubles and fears. Aye !” continued the 
mineralogist, the tears trickling down his 
noble countenance, “ dust unto dust, small 
and great, the white man and the red man, 
the bond and the free, to the silent house, 
appointed for all living, must sooner or 
later go. The words of truth are, ‘ It is 
appointed once for all men to die, and af- 
terwards the judgment’ Hear me, Mar- 
cus Coldfire, thou bravest of the brave ! 
Forget not the admonitions of thy now 
sainted mother. And thou gallant son of 
our mother-land, the flower of chivalry, in 
the language of Scripture I fear I must 
say, ‘ One thing thou yet lackest !’ And 
' thou idol of a mighty house, recollect the 
! language of the poet, ‘ Those whom the 
I Gods love, die early.’ And thou, whom I 
I love more than myself, Julian Onslow, the 
! refined gold, tried seven times in the fire, 
set not thy lieart on the things (^f earth, 
for they perish in the using. And thou, 
bright star of a cloudless night ! sweet 
pensive captive ! worship Him whose eye 
suffereth not a sparro\v to fall to the ground 
unheeded I And thou, bold warrior ! so 
full, of man’s philosophy and reason, recol- 
lect that the wisdom of man faileth ! And 

14 


thou, father and daughter, the sturdy oak 
and the tender vine, children of the forest, 
hear ye not the voice of God in every 
breeze! Worship Him, for hath he not 
manifested his power to-day! And thou, 
prisoner! behold the bodies of thy com- 
rades ! Why hast thou escaped ! Speak 
not their wounds to thee, to prepare for 
death! Glory to Him who hath the keys 
of life and death in his hands ! The day is 
not distant when the precious treasures of 
the earth shall be eviscerated to send the 
words of life unto heathen lands. And 
thou, son of the sinful Ham ! Ethiopia shall 
yet rejoice! And thou, daughter of storms, 
of sensibility, of wrongs and sorrows, be 
humbled, be of good cheer ! The day is 
not distant — yea, it is at hand, when jus- 
tice shall be done thee and thine. And 
lastly, thou, Geoffrey Jarvis, mineralogist, 
the man who will be misrepresented and 
misunderstood, go on rejoicing in thy tribu- 
lations and sorrows ! Thou hast performed 
thy last duty to thy pupil. May God, in 
his mercy, prosper thee in all thy great 
schemes of benevolence. Amen.” 

The bodies of the dead having been dis- 
posed of, and strict search made through- 
out the Camp House, Edward and Coldfire, 
assisted by Captain Gant, set fire to a train 
of powder, which, (after their friends had 
departed a sufficient distance,) shook the 
earth, and scattered the Prison House into 
a thousand fragments ; they remained long 
enough to witness the spectacle, and to 
cause the sentinel, to whom they gave a 
written parole, to fire the remaining 
cabins. 

The happy and rescued prisoners re- 
lated many stirring incidents — the horrors 
of suspense, and the menaces from their 
insolent oppressors — their many fears for 
those coming to their relief ; whilst Cato 
dwelt with intense interest on his alarm at 
the firing of the guns, and the sudden ap- 
pearance of the sentinel, whose presence 
in the room only served to increase his 
alarm, vowing most solemnly in conclu- 
sion, hereafter to give up the pleasures of 
the chase, until more peaceful times should 
be established. 

Late at night the party reached the 
Giant’s Cave, and found all things as 
they had been left. After a hasty repast, 
and proper guards had been posted, the 
weary and exhausted sought that repose 
which they so much needed. 

At dawn of light, Edir approached Ju- 
lian, who was on guard, and after saluting 
him, said — 

“1 have done my duty. I fain would 


198 


ONSLOW, 


now go with you and the fair angel who 
slumbered so sweetly and gently in my 
arms last night, and called thee by name 
so kindly, saying, ‘Oh! Julian, let us 
thank Heaven, that we have again met — 
never, never again to parti’ Deceive her 
not, as one did me ! Your camp and your 
crowd suit not me. I must seek the fresh 
breeze, and the lonely place. My heart is 
sad — I must leave thee ! Farewell. But 
hear me. Tell thy counterpart, Edward 
Conway, not to trifle with the heart of 
Kelonah. She already loves him too well. 
He must wed, or shun her — there is no 
middle ground of dalliance ! I must away; 
the Bloody Scout will yet thirst for more 
blood and revenge !” 

She suddenly disappeared, leaving Ju- 
lian to muse over words and conduct alto- 
gether extraordinary and unexpected to 
him. 

Julian, with his fair friend mounted on 
the croup of his noble charger, listened to 
each other’s various trials and misfortunes ; 
whilst Edward and Gant alternately re- 
counted to their companions the scenes 
through which they had passed at the 
Prison Plouse. 

Ohilca was earnestly solicited by the 
mineralogist to take up his abode near 
McTlhaney’s, in a region abounding with 
many signs favorable to the bed of precious 
metals — whilst the gentle and ardent Ke- 
lonah was besought by St. Ille, with much 
earnestness, to make her mother’s her 
home — but she preferred to be near the 
side of her father. 

In due time, each of the company who 
had traveled together, and who had under- 
gone so many perils, reached their respec- 
tive homes or friends, without any serious 
accident, showing that heartfelt regret at 
parting which mutual dangers and kind- 
ness ever produce. 

But there was one exception to this 
happy termination of the late adventures. 
Poor Cato wept with a bitterness of feel- 
ing which derived no consolation from 
hope or reason. The home of affection, 
and pleasure, and plenty, had been turned 
to penury and sorrow. At the name of 
Prudence, he would burst into childish 
tears ! 

Aye ! thy hopes dry up, and despair 
draws its pall over future visions of hap- 
piness. Unalloyed misery broods over the 
mind, filling it with the phantoms of by- 
gone joys: whilst the misdeeds of other 
days menace the worn-out and irresolute 
conscience, till death, so long dreaded, 
after having produced its thousand anti- 


cipated agonies, kindly administers the 
Lethean draught, and puts the seal of 
dark oblivion upon the aches and throbs 
of a heart already bereft of its courage ! 


CHAPTER LIII. 

Tliey sin who tell us love can die ; 

With life all other passions fly. 

All others are but vanity. 

Its holy flame for ever burneth, 

From Heaven it came, to Heaven returneth. 

Southey. 

The powerful army of Green investing 
Ninety-Six, and the three Brigadiers, who 
were ever ready to take the field, had pro- 
duced, during the absence of our party, a 
temporary respite in the brutal conflicts of 
personal hatred ; and the bold leaders in 
rapine and plunder had gradually shifted 
the scenes of their villanies to the more 
distant and unprotected settlements. 

The unfortunate Col. Conway was more 
bewildered than ever ; his mind revolted 
at the injuries he had sustained from his 
acknowledged political friends, and yet he 
feared to take sides against them. Clan- 
nagan had stripped him of all his property, 
alledging that he was in league with the 
rebels. At the approach of the American 
army, Conway again ventured to return to 
his unfortunate residence ; his wife and 
daughter had to undergo the most trying 
privations, and the Hall which had resound- 
ed with merriment was silent and gloomy; 
and the board of plenty furnished a scanty 
subsistence I But two hearts held up 
against distress, and poured consolation 
into the drooping hearts of Col. Conway 
and poor Cato ; Cathena and her mother 
seemed to gain fresh courage from every 
disaster. 

It would require no stretch of the ima- 
gination, to believe that the meeting be- 
tween Gant and Cathena was one of pain- 
ful interest; mingled with gratitude on 
the part of Cathena, and of admiration of 
her virtues and fortitude on the part of 
Gant. He recollected his first interview, 
when she was the reputed possessor of 
thousands. Whatever might have given the 
first impulse to his attachment, he felt a 
conscious pride when he now knew it 
arose from his elevated regard for the 
qualities of her heart and the attainments 
of her mind ; and Cathena secretly felt 
that no one could blame her for her affec- 
tions for the man who had shown so much 
devotion for the welfare of her family, and 


A TALE OP THE SOUTH. 


199 


such unwavering attachment to her ; but 
these were her own thoughts, she breathed 
them to no one, not even to the object of 
her regard. 

Gant, who did not know the extent of 
the deep and reciprocal interest felt to- 
wards him by Cathena, with true delicacy 
did not under present circumstances feel 
justilied in pressing his suit. With proper 
professions of regard, he took leave of the 
family, (promising, to see them in a short 
time,) for the purpose of resuming his du- 
ties at Ninety-Six, which had been so un- 
expectedly interrupted, on an occasion al- 
ready recorded. 

Julian, although dreaming of happiness 
at Mrs. Grayson’s, and Edward Conway, 
who had thought that one smile from Ame- 
lia Milligan would repay him for all his 
perils, no sooner had got back into the ex- 
cited community, than they felt t\\Q gaudia 
certaminis, the glory of the strife ! They 
desired again to strike for the liberty and 
the glory of their country ! 

The scene between Mrs. Grayson and 
her daughter must be noticed ; that shock 
which no pen can describe — the joy of a 
mother on meeting with a lost daughter. 
Mrs. Grayson, in the excess of her feelings, 
called Julian her worthy son ; the one who 
should alone inherit the pearl he had res- 
cued ; and poor St. Ille, half blushing and 
weeping, could not but respond to this 
gush of feeling on the part of her mother. 

And Edward, the hitherto discreet and 
somewhat circumspect young gentleman, 
galloped off to Mrs. Milligan’s. “ It is 
Edward,” exclaimed Amelia. She was 
silent and motionless ! the unexpected sur- 
prise overpowered her — she was caught in 
the arms of her sister, who alone of the 
family knew the deep secret of her heart. 
Edward followed her to the couch. “ I 
hope she will soon be better,” he sobbed, 
whilst the tears streamed down his cheeks, 
as he beheld the pale and delicate features, 
white as the Parian marble, when no stain 
has touched it; gradually the pale cheeks 
began to assume a beautiful crimson tinge; 
the lips, so bloodless, looked like the last 
touches of an artist ! — the sparkling eye, so 
motionless and lustreless, now flashed with 
pleasure, as she smilingly reached out her 
delicate little hand, with the token of love 
still where Edward had placed it. 

“ Ah ! Edward, I knew I should see you 
again ! and St. Ille and Julian 1” 

“ They are safe at Mrs. Grayson’s,” re- 
plied Edward. 

It was in vain that Mrs. Milligan urged 
that Amelia’s health was too delicate for 


her to exert herself; alledging that ever 
since St. Ille’s absence, and that of Ed- 
ward’s, her daughter’s health had been 
declining. “ My heart aclies when I look 
at her,” continued Mrs. Milligan. “The 
wit, the smile, all life are gone ! and that 
deep red tinge has been the only hope left.” 
Ah ! who can tell the ethereal sensation, 
the sweet reality of a flame- acknowledged, 
and then to know that the health has been 
subjected to the deep passion of the heart. 
Edward worshiped Amelia, and he who 
but a day ago was but an infant in matters 
of the heart, felt and acted like a giant. 
“ She must not — shall not be exposed !” 
Such was the language to himself, but the 
beautiful and now exhilarated girl looked 
so well, was so full of life, that she de- 
clared that no harm could possibly accrue 
“ from a gentle and cautious ride.” 

It would be useless to relate the happy 
words which passed between them ; there 
was no preliminary courtship, no cautious 
circumlocution. They each knew each 
other’s heart instinctively, and the full and 
unpracticed words of love and endearment 
sprung up so readily, that they seemed as 
if they v/ere but those they had always 
used. Amelia asked him over and over 
his perils, and when he would begin to tell 
them, she would weep, and ask him to de- 
sist until she could be more composed. 
Life — love — all, all are a mystery ! 

Major Walden, who had heard through 
Bucklebelt of the arrangements of Edward, 
ventured to meet him at the Sycamores. 
He had already arrived, and was listening 
with intense interest to the narrative of St. 
Ille, when Edward and his fair charge 
made their visit to Mrs. Grayson’s. 

Edward sprung forwards on the neck of 
his uncle ; who, half weeping and laugh- 
ing, chided his nephew for his seeming ne- 
glect, in not having paid him the first 
visit; he even for a moment treated Julian 
with marked and unwonted kindness. 

But pleasures cannot last forever ; the 
young and gallant lovers, after many vows 
on their part, and as many tears and smiles 
from their fair angels, took leave to join 
the besieging party under General Green. 
The whole Whigs of the South looked 
with intense interest on his efforts, whilst 
Colonel Cruger, and his associate Major 
Green, urged their men to stand fast 
against the attacks of the rebels. The 
latter officers had good cause to be alarm- 
ed ; for they beheld Fort Watson taken by 
Marion and Lee — Camden evacuated by 
[iOrd Rawdon — Orangeburg taken by Gen. 
Sumpter — Forte Motte the next day ; and 


200 


ONSLOW, 


two days afterwards, the post at Nelson’s 
Ferry, and the next day Fort Granby. 
Georgetown was evacuated by the British. 
Thus rapidly six of their posts were taken 
or abandoned. Soon followed the post at 
Silver Bluff; and then the siege and fall of 
Augusta, under Lieut. Col. Lee and Gen. 
Pickens. 

Many who had been injured by the loya- 
lists, now burst forth breathing revenge; 
and it required all the cool judgment and 
persuasion of the Whig commanders to 
succeed in allaying the keen and aggra- 
vated spirit of retaliation in those who 
now felt that they had an opportunity of 
redressing their private grievances on their 
foes. 

The regular siege on Ninety-Six had 
been prosecuted with great spirit and cou- 
rage by the assaulting party. During the 
latter part of these vigorous efforts, Edward 
and Julian had been detailed to guard the 
ladies of Colonel Cruger and Major Green, 
at their residence at the farm house already 
noticed. It was the pleasing office of Capt. 
Gant, through the directions of his com- 
manding officer, to apprise this small de- 
tachment of guards of the sudden retreat of 
General Green, and the near approach of 
Lord Rawdon. Cold fire, who had been 
sent out on a foraging party, came up after 
the army had retreated, and must have 
fallen into the hands of Clannagan, but as 
he passed the house of Mrs. Cruger, she 
sent a messenger to warn him of his dan- 
ger ; thereby showing that she had a noble 
and generous heart, capable of appreciating 
the kindness and politeness of the American 
General, as well as the proper rules of 
honorable warfare. 

Thus was abandoned a siege, which in 
three days must have ended in complete 
victory. The noble General alone preserved 
his equanimity ; for gloom and disappoint- 
ment were depicted in the faces of every 
soldier ; but their gallant General cheered 
them with the prospect of the future ; tell- 
ing them that the day was not distant, 
when they would meet their foes on an 
open field. 

Thus retreating, the army passed the 
Saluda, and successively the Enoree, the 
Tyger and Broad Rivers, towards Charlotte 
in North Carolina. But learning that the 
enemy, (through an intercepted letter,) 
were , about to abandon the garrison of 
Ninety-Six, Green immediately changed 
his plans, drawing nearer to the enemy. 


CHAPTER LIV. 

They now to fight are gone, 

Armor on armor shone, , 

Drum now to drum did groan, 

To hear was wonder ; 

That with the cries they make, 

The very earth did shake. 

Trumpet to trumpet spake. 

Thunder to thunder. 

The Ballad of Agincourt. 

The heat of the season becoming oppres- 
sive, General Green, ever mindful of the 
health of his brave comrades, selected the 
high hills of Santee ; thereby allowing his 
light troops to fall on the British posts in 
the vicinity of Charleston. But the active 
spirit of the immortal hero of the South, 
after finding his army recruited, could not 
remain idle. He soon rallied his friends; 
calling Pickens, Marion, and others to his 
aid ; and pursuing the enemy, came up 
with them at the Eutaw Springs. 

It will be hardly necessary to state, that 
Major Walden’s battalion, joined by Julian, 
was under the command of Gen. Pickens; 
and joined in the first attack, and was well 
supported by Col. Williams and Lieut. Col. 
Campbell. 

The continental troops followed with a 
less eager, though more regular movement. 

The battle soon became general, and 
men and officers rushed forwards through 
showers of musketry and the heaviest 
cannonade. The immortal Campbell fell 
speechless in the decisive charge which 
broke the British line. 

Major Walden received a slight wound 
in this glorious battle. In his eagerness 
in the pursuit, he was surrounded by the 
enemy; Julian saw his imminent danger, 
and without stopping to consult his own 
safety, plunged in the midst. Blow after 
blow was dealt. The fatal sword was 
thrust behind, and under the* arm of the 
hard pressed Walden, and nothing but the 
prompt and powerful aid from the sword of 
Julian saved his life ; for at a blow he dis- 
abled the arm of the unobserved foe, who 
was so near accomplishing his designs; 
another stroke from the same victorious 
sword and the, wretch fell dead to the 
earth ; his head falling forwards on his 
breast, ere his almost decapitated body had 
reached the ground. 

“Ah! rny dear Edward, you have been 
my deliverer; you have saved my life.” 

“ I came too late, although I saw with 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


201 


agonized feelings your critical situation ; 
it was all the work of a moment ! Julian 
was too prompt for me, he espied your dan- 
ger, and called to me to follow !” 

The exhausted Major seemed mortified 
at his mistake ; but very fervently thanked 
Julian for his timely assistance, exclaiming 
aloud, — “Hurra, my brave boys'? this is 
the consummation of all our privations, 
victory and liberty are ours !” 

Pickens received a wound ; Col. Wash- 
ington was wounded and taken prisoner. 
The battle raged for three hours, in the 
very heat of the month of September ; and 
of six commandants of regiments bearing 
continental commissions, Williams and 
Lee only escaped unhurt. 

Congress passed resolutions of thanks to 
the troops of the several States, and pre- 
sented the immortal commander with a 
British standard, and a gold medal emblem- 
atical of the battle and victory. 

Thus closed the national war in the 
South. Although sundry enterprises were 
projected and executed ; and the loss of 
property and private barbarity, with an oc- 
casional skirmish, or murder, continued. 
No campaign ever reflected more credit on 
a commander and his comrades ; and this 
ever memorable and trying one must be 
considered as placing General Green upon 
the list of great commanders ! Gloom 
and confusion met him in its inception ; 
glory and peace followed its termination ! 
His army unpaid, unfed, and half clothed, 
had to contend against those whose situa- 
tion was the reverse, — plunder and plenty 
supplied them with all the pre-requisites of 
war ; and it has been beautifully said, that 
“ the enemies of Green, found him as for- 
midable on the evening of a defeat, as on 
the morning after a victory.” 


CHAPTER LV. 

As panthers, after set of sun. 

Rush from the roots of Lebanon, 

Across the dark sea robber ’s way ; 

We ’ll bound upon our startled prey. 

Moore. 

After the memorable battle just glanced 
at. General Green disbanded most of the 
militia ; whilst he again returned to the 
high hills of Santee, where health and 
hospitality were to be found for his brave 
comrades in war. Commissioners were 
appointed to exchange prisoners, and settle 
down a regular system of paroles, between 
the contending parties. 

The famous order of Governor Rutledge, 


about this time, commanding the royalist 
families, and those whose husbands were in 
the service of the British, to move without 
delay within the British lines, produced a 
state of great excitement and distress, upon 
such as this stern though righteous order 
operated. Then it was that the poisoned 
chalice was returned to their own lips ! — 
Many determined to evade the order, or 
make a de.sperate effort to rekindle the 
subsiding flame of civil war; restore the 
royal power, and retrieve their lost influ- 
ence ! Amongst those who felt the great- 
est repugnance to this order, was Major 
Notwood ; who had, by various stratagems 
and frauds, obtained the rights and titles, 
to negroes and lands, belonging to certain 
families. And although he was willing to 
follow for awhile the fortunes of the royal- 
ists, he was not disposed to see them re- 
tire from the command of the country, 
without one more desperate effort at repos- 
sessing his former ascendancy, aided by 
their co-operation. 

It was not more than a fortnight after 
the proceedings, taken by Gov. Rutledge, 
(already noticed,) when Clannagan and 
Notwood paid a private visit to Mcllha- 
ney’s. It was at the hour of midnight. — 
They inquired for Ohilca and the mineralo- 
gist. The deaf, and now disenthralled 
man, coolly answered, “ Now, Colonel, 
your race is over, what can you do? the 
Waldens and the Bucklebelts are now 
exulting at the order of Rutledge, to re- 
move us poor innocent people within the 
lines of the conquered and retreating 
British?” 

“What?” asked Clannagan, fiercely, 
“ you are like others, ready to submit and 
lick the feet of the rebels ? but the scourge 
of sickness is worse than resistance ; and 
I will die before I obey the hard-hearted 
decree of this would be dictator of Caroli- 
na. And revenge ! sweet revenge ! like 
that of Sampson, in the temple of the Phi- 
listines, shall yet be mine ! Beware ! lest 
you and Conway be found amongst those 
who will find out my power to do mischief, 
when it is too late !” 

The craven cowered before the threat- 
ening speaker, although he had already de- 
termined to abandon his service. The two 
conspirators compelled him, however, not- 
withstanding his repugnance, to accompa- 
ny them to the camp of the mineralogist 
and Ohilca, who had recently been much 
together in the woods, and seemed to have 
formed one of those associations, which 
spring from unseen and often ine_xplicable 
congeniality of feeling ; which is seen and 


202 


ONSLOW, 


wondered at, by the casual observer ; and 
without attempting to analyze the hidden 
impulses which led to this avssociation, it 
may be supposed that the child of nature, 
who looked upon its works and almost 
worshiped them, and he, who looked through 
and examined them so diligently, could but 
harmonize in feeling and attachment. 

Ohilca and the mineralogist were found 
on one of the high and rocky spurs or points, 
which led out from the banks of the river, 
not far from the one on which Edward 
stood guard, during the celebration of 
the Declaration of Independence already 
noticed. Clannagan and his two compan- 
ions approached cautiously, until they were 
discovered by a dog, which had been se- 
duced to take service under better masters, 
from some one of the abandoned planta- 
tions. Ohilca was busily engaged in dress- 
ing and quartering a deer, he had killed 
that morning, whilst Kelonah had just re- 
turned with a string of perch, some still 
fluttering. The mineralogist was busily 
employed, as if transcribing his manu- 
scripts from loose and fugitive leaves and 
scraps of paper, on more enduring materi- 
als. 

At the signal given by the dog, the mi- 
neralogist seized his gun, and hastily glanc- 
ing around, “ Friends or foes 1” he demand- 
ed. “ Come ye upon the solitude of the chil- 
dren of nature 1 Come ye to disturb and 
rob us, even of the blessings of silence and 
of repose 1 are we too happy for you 1 wish 
you, Clannagan, to shut me up again in the 
narrow prison house, amidst poisonous va- 
pors and contagious diseases'?” 

“ Friends ! friends !” exclaimed Nut- 
wood, “ your best friends, come to rejoice 
with you, in the glorious solitude of nature, 
enlivened by your philosophical discoveries 
and researches.” 

Ohilca, still grasping his bloody knife, 
cast a quick and searching look at the 
group; he attempted to read the features 
of Mcllhaney, but tlie imperturbable and 
dogged countenance exhibited no indica- 
tion by which to unravel the dark work- 
ings of his breast. 

“ Be seated,” said the mineralogist. 

“ Thank you ! thank you !” replied Nut- 
wood, “ although I have had no personal 
knowledge of you, yet your brilliant dis- 
coveries and schemes have often been men- 
tioned to me, by your great admirer, my 
friend, Col. Clannagan; who is, like your- 
self, excitable, and of a quick and heroic 
temperament. We come to ask pardon, 
for the great and wicked misconduct done 
to you, through the misrepresentations of 


Major Walden, and his Whig friends, and, 
if possible, to make honorable amends to 
you.” 

The mineralogist listened attentively, 
whilst the countenance of Clannagan 
seemed to give a flat contradiction to the 
insidious apologies of his companion. 

“ By heavens ! Col. Clannagan !” ex- 
claimed Not wood, looking towards Kelo- 
nah, “ there is the paragon of beauty ! look 
at the dark ringlets, which hang like the 
rich foliage around the clusters of blushing 
grapes ; or rather like the mists of evening, 
on the placid sky of twilight ; and then the 
eye, like the rapid flashes of light from a 
whirling mirror ; ornamented, too, by her 
own tasteful workmanship ; an eastern 
beauty cannot vie with her. She is as per- 
fect in form, and contour, as if from the 
hand of the statuary ?” 

“ She is my daughter,” replied Ohilca, 
who noticed, with no little chagrin, the 
confusion of the girl, “ and I am her only 
protector.” 

“ Not so,” quickly answered the mine- 
ralogist, whose countenance reflected the 
feelings of Ohilca,” she has another in me; 
and never shall she be insulted in my pre- 
sence, by the impudent or profligate ; her 
ears shall not be profaned, by the idle cant 
of professed gallants, or the set phrases of 
designing compliment ; and you have mis- 
taken your men. Major Notwood, and your 
intended victim, if you expect to circum- 
vent us, by glozing and cozening artifice.” 

This unexpected rebuke to the flippant 
gallantry of Notwood would have discon- 
certed any one else. But he quickly ex- 
claimed, “ You mistake me, my good 
friends ! I am as ready as either of you to 
defend her ; I am a father, and therefore 
know how to appreciate her feelings and 
her rights.” 

After a hasty breakfast, Clannagan tak- 
ing Ohilca apart from those who were 
present, held the following language, — 

“ You have ever been a friend to the 
king of England ; you have risked your 
life, and drawn blood in our cause ; but you 
have been deceived by designing knaves, 
you have been enticed from your oldestand 
best friends — from your allegiance and the 
path of honor! Even your tender bird is 
not allowed to sing with her equals ! Be- 
ware ! she is now at the mercy of the keen 
eyed hawk! Listen tome, Iligh-tower! 
You say you are the protector of your only 
child ! Be so then not in words, but in 
deeds! Does she not love Edward Con- 
way, and is she not as good ? Hath she 
not the same blood in her veins ? Has he 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


' 203 


returned the love of her, whose father sav- 
ed his life 1 The spirit of revenge has sent 
me to join you, and lead you, and our brave 
friends to victory ! We are waiting to re- 
ceive you again, in our band ! We are 
panting for ihe onset, and there are many 
now awaiting your eagle cry amongst your 
native hills ; to follow you to victory or to 
death ! — now is the time to avenge the 
wrongs of your child, and to re-establish 
the authority of our sovereign.” 

The noble countenance of Ohilca under- 
went rapid and painful changes. “ Yes,” 
said he, “ it is true, that the proud boy 
seemed to love my Kelonah ! I have seen 
him weep, when he heard her sweet songs, 
and he called her sister. It was her tears 
that saved his life ; and let him beware, lest 
they yet cost him what he has gained. He 
shuns her of late, he loves another whilst 
Kelonah, the only one left to me of my fa- 
mily, still weeps and loves him ; she will 
not hear my words to return; but I will 
follow your advice. We must start this 
night.” 

During this conversation, Notwood had 
embraced the opportunity to make an at- 
tempt to enlist the mineralogist in his 
schemes ; artfully playing upon his ruling 
passion ; hinting at the gross injustice 
which had been exercised towards Julian, 
in the accusations of Walden, and he com- 
batted the fastidious honor which kept Ju- 
lian from demanding satisfaction for the 
suspicions which were cast upon him. He 
declared that with the assistance of Clan- 
nagan and himself, the testimony of McII- 
haney, and the skill of the mineralogist to 
direct, Julian could get possession of 
wealth and power, whilst the great neces- 
sity of an immediate change in the cur- 
rency of the country, and the assistance 
which Julian might afford in effecting it, 
were emphatically enforced. “ Yes,” said 
Notwood, “ sleep not over your mighty 
schemes ! force to force must be used ; co- 
ercion in lieu of persuasion ! and if need 
be, let us seize the refractory, and carry 
them within the royal line.s.” 

The mineralogist was bewildered and 
agitated, and promised to consult Julian, 
and urge the proposal to his favorable con- 
sideration. 

The conspirators left the two hermits, 
promising to seethe mineralogist again; 
their scheme was to rouse the flagging 
spirits of the Tories; divert Green from his 
regular plans of warfare, until the royalists 
could regain their lost positions; and if 
possible, still retain South Carolina and 


Georgia, under Tory and British subjec- 
tion. 

Soon after the departure of Notwood and 
his companions, Julian,' who had spent most 
of his time (since he had been disbanded,) 
at Mrs. Grayson’s, sought the mineralogist 
to urge him no longer to delay that infor- 
rnation, which he had so often requested 
him to impart, Kelonah bounded like a 
fawn to greet him ! Julian thought of the 
gay butterfly, disporting its happy exist- 
ence in the sunshine. After she had in- 
quired after his health, she looked him in 
the face, and with a melancholy smile, said, 

“And how is Edward Conway] I fear 
he is sick ! why does he not come to see 
me] I hear that he loves another; but I 
know it is false ! sit down, Julian, here by 
this beautiful rill, and I will sing you a 
little song, which you must carry him ! sit 
down,” said she, “ let my father and the 
mineralogist talk of their own affairs ; we 
will join them so soon as I sing you the 
song for Edward.” 

Julianobeyed the earnest injunction of 
the enthusiastic child of nature ; who, to a 
simple air, sung the following words, com- 
posed by herself, — 

I. 

Tell him I love him yet — 

That deep within my heart 
His image bright is set, 

Never from thence to part. 

II . 

Tell him I love him yet — 

Though woo he charms divine, 

Ilis love will ne’er be met 
With ought so true as mine. 

III. 

Tell him I love him yet — 

That he ’s adored — though tears 
May fall my cheeks to wet 
Amidst my hopes and fears. 

W. 

Tell him I love him yet — 

And should his smiles grow dim, 

I never will regret 
I gave my heart to him. 

“ Now,” said she, smiling through her 
tears, “ give these lines to Edward ; per- 
haps he will come and call me sister, and 
he will hunt with my father, or fish with 
me.” 

Julian could scarcely restrain his tears; 
he saw what had been done by the blind 
archer, and what had been done by the in- 
nocent and grateful expressions of affec- 


204 


ONSLOW, 


tionate regard by Edward. He promised 
to obey her request, and immediately ap- 
proached the mineralogist and Ohilca. 
The former, after asking Kelonah and 
her father to retire for a few minutes, in 
a deep and solemn tone related the con- 
versation which had been held by Not- 
wood, and the favorable impression it had 
made on his own mind. 

“ The terms are righteous,” he ex- 
claimed. “Justice, to you demands it! 
Shall Heaven and earth be overturned, 
and nothing achieved 1 Shall damnable 
fraud longer triumph 1 Will you become 
the mere drone of a rich hivel The 
bought husband of a rich wife 1 when 
you have the means to become more than 
her equal in wealth"? And shall one who 
has been saved by our hands, and who has 
broken, the heart of Ohilca’s daughter, en- 
joy the whole 1 No ! the house of Walden 
totters to its foundation 1” 

“ Beware !” replied Julian. “ Remem- 
ber the prison ! Remember the injustice 
of Clannagan ! Forget not a long life of 
honor, and successful investigation and 
study of a noble science ! Warn Ohilca 
in time against their criminal machina- 
tions!” 

“ Speak not to me thus, Julian Onslow ! 
Am I not an astrologer"? Am I not a 
reader of the map of man’s features "? I 
hear the mutterings of the storm — I must 
direct it in its course ! Events converge 
to a crisis !” 

Julian again earnestly besought the 
mineralogist to ponder. He drew a vivid 
picture of the cruelties and frauds of the 
two partisans, and urged him to rely, like 
a giant, on his own powerful energies, and 
not to seek or suffer such an alliance. 

The mineralogist wept, moved by the 
eloquent and affecting appeal which Julian 
made ; and he promised, with some show 
of reluctance, to yield to his advice. 

Julian, after promising to return again, 
and without accomplishing the design of 
his visit, took leave of each. He was too 
much interested in the welfare of the com- 
munity, and too much moved by the com- 
munications just heard, to remain to in- 
vestigate his own private affairs. Kelonah 
followed him a short distance, and begging 
him to return again, and bring Edward 
with him, burst into tears, and hid her 
face in her hands. 

Immediately after Julian’s departure, 
Ohilca urged wuth great earnestness the 
mineralogist to accompany him back to the 
neighborhood of the Camp House, and hint- 
ed his strong desire to be revenged on cer- 


tain inhabitants in the present neighbor- 
hood. The mineralogist had no sooner 
ascertained the tendency of his mind, than 
he began to reflect that his own great 
plans might be frustrated, and recollect- 
ing the strong appeal just made by Julian, 
he hastily, without giving Ohilca an an- 
swer, mounted his horse, (tied but a short 
distance from the camp,) and went in pur- 
suit of Julian, taking the precaution of 
starting in a different direction. 

He had not gone far before he was over- 
taken by Coldfire and little Buck Tidder, 
both under a galling gait. 

“ I ’m going to let Mr. Onslow know 
that the neighborhood is to be burnt out of 
house and home, and some are to be seized 
and carried off to the British camp ! My 
friend’s neck, I am sure, never was de- 
signed for a halter. I am just ahead of 
Jake Adams and his squad ; they are to 
join Clannagan and Notwood somewhere 
hereabouts.” 

When the three persons arrived at Mrs. 
Grayson’s, they fortunately found Julian 
and Edward prepared to assist them in 
rousing up the neighborhood to the con- 
templated attack, although they had had 
no apprehension that the blow was medi- 
tated as early as represented by young 
Tidder. 

Coldfire separated from the others, pro- 
mising to ride to several houses, and meet 
them at Captain Bucklebelt’s. He had not 
left them long, before the mineralogist 
pointed towards the direction of the Holi- 
days. They saw the smoke rising up, 
like the tall form of the dark cypress ; 
whilst towards Coldfire’s it hung like a 
sable cloud on the verge of the horizon 
at evening, extending itself in a long, 
lazy mass, just above the tops of the 
trees. 

“They are now at Bucklebelt’s!” ex- 
claimed Julian. “ Behold ! the lurid and 
boiling signals, like the disastrous belch- 
ings of a volcano, as the falling materials 
stir and feed the flames !” 

This last and fresh sign led them, and 
as many as they could conveniently gather 
— amongst whom was Bucklebelt, who had 
fortunately escaped with his friend Holi- 
day from the Bloody Scout, whilst on a 
friendly visit to his house — to quicken 
their speed. 

It was late in the evening before the 
party had gathered a sufficient force to 
authorize them to face the foe, for Tidder’s 
account represented them as comprising 
some thirty or forty individuals. They 
met with a scene at Bucklebelt’s, which 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


205 


bpggared all description. The new log- 
cabin, which had been erected by the 
neighbors, was now a heap of cinders ! 
The little white-headed urchins were gaz- 
ing in mute astonishment on the devasta- 
tion of their home ; and not far oft' sat Mrs. 
Bucklebelt and her second twins. Buckle- 
belt, after ascertaining that his two oldest 
boys were gone in quest of him, without 
any reference to his misfortune, said — 

“Have you seen Coldfire, my dear? I 
fear he has missed us, or has fallen in 
with the Tories.” 

“Ah! husband!” replied his wife, with 
a deep sigh, “ we are ruined forever ! I 
don’t mind the burning of the house a fig ; 
but I have been the cause of the death of 
the bravest soldier, except yourself, in the 
thirteen United States!” 

“ What ! J ulius Caesar, or Cneus Pom- 
pey slain ? Speak, woman ! Why, I 
thought you told me they were safe?” 

“ Marcus Coldfire is dead !” said the 
mineralogist, with a deep and fierce voice, 
not waiting a reply to Bucklebelt’s ques- 
tion. “ I know it !” he continued. “ I 
had a presentiment when I took my last 
look ! The bravest warrior, and more 
after my own heart as such, than I have 
seen or read of, since the days of Joshua 
and .Toab !” 

“ Too true,” exclaimed Mrs. Bucklebelt, 
wiping her eyes ; “ and all on our account. 
For when he rode near, and saw the flames 
boiling up, and looked at my poor little 
helpless children, and heard of their insult- 
ing language to me, he raised himself up 
in his stirrups, and pointing his sword to- 
wards Heaven, he cried out — ‘ Revenge ! 
revenge ! revenge !’ three times, and with- 
out hearing my entreaties to come back, 
rode oft* as fast as his horse could carry 
him. Presently I heard shouts, and the 
firing of pistols! Poor fellow! he must 
have been taken in by the Bloody Scout — 
for Clannagan wore off your uniform, and 
made all his men put white paper on their 
hats, in imitation of your company. I 
heard their wild shouts in pursuit of him, 
and just as they got against the house, 
they wounded his horse, and he was thrown 
off by the falling of his horse. He sprung 
to his feet to defend himself! The cow'ard- 
ly villains! Three of them fired at him at 
once ! After he had fired off both his pis- 
tols, the blood streaming from the wounds 
of tlie shots w'hich he had received, he 
pulled cut his sword and rushed at Clan- 
nagan. ‘ I ask no quarters from such 
bloodhounds ! You see I am overpow^ered 
by numbers!’ he said. Clannagan shout- 


ed, ‘We give none! Remeniber Joice 
and Hanks ! Revenge is sweet ! I swore 
to avenge their wrongs on their murderer !’ 
Then Coldfire, with one desperate spring, 
caught hold of the leg of Clannagan, and 
had his sword’fe point against his breast ; 
but the blood-thirsty monster was too 
quick ! He dealt a blow with his sword 
which caused Coldfire to stagger, and fall 
to the earth ! ‘ The rebel is dead !’ said 

Clannagan, ‘ and we have no time to spare.’ 
Jake Adams rode up and shot the wounded 
horse, thus meanly trying to take revenge 
on the poor beast. When they had rode 
off, I carried some water and washed the 
blood from Lieutenant Coldfire’s face. He 
opened his eyes, and said — ‘ Farewell ! I 
am dying ! I commend my spirit to my 
Maker, and bequeath my sword to the 
mineralogist !’ These were his last wmids.” 

Bucklebelt wept aloud, as he bent over 
the stern features of his friend, and beheld 
the noble and athletic form cold and man- 
gled. 

“Behold,” exclaimed the mineralogist, 
“ the effects of the obstinacy of those who 
have refused to listen to my plans. But 
the finale approaches. Marcus Coldfire, 
the valiant, thy pulse is like the gems of 
the fountain when congealed ! Thy eagle 
eye of fire, like the diamond hid in dark- 
ness ! And thy well knit frame, like the 
giant oak under the rude blast of the tor- 
nado ! Thy name and thy deeds, like let- 
ters written on iron ! Thy blood is the 
seed from whence will spring precious 
fruits ! Here, before high Heaven ! I 
swear to avenge thy death with thy own 
trusty sword ! Yes ! this valiant sword 
shall drink of the blood of thy murderer, 
and then shall be kept as a sacred relic! 
And thou, my noble science ! the long and 
cherished pursuit of years, must lie ne- 
glected for a season, till I fulfill this my 
last solemn vow ! till I avenge the wrongs 
of this my valiant friend ! ay ! and the 
w’rongs of his friend and his country ! 
Yes, Marcus, although it may seem w'eak, 
yet I will weep over thee. Marcus, my 
beloved ! my dormant and inexplicable 
sympathies yearn over thy memory ! — 
Yes, over thy lifeless body! 1 must kiss 
thy pale cheek ! thy livid lips, out of which 
issued no guile nor falsehood ! Register 
my name. Captain Bucklebelt, in the place 
of lieutenant Coldfire’s.” 

There was weeping by the side of Cold- 
fire’s corse, as his friends bore it slowly to 
lay it beside that of his mother’s; and the 
sweet and solemn quiet of the spot w’as 
often disturbed by the sobs, and last kind 


206 


ONSLOW, 


offices of those who hid their friend and 
companion in the deep vault that too often 
hides the brave and the good. 

The hurry — the battle — the house-burn- 
ings ! were all lost for a time, in the deep 
feelings of those who performed the last 
sad rites to the memory of their beloved 
friend. 

“ My heart is too sad,” said the miner- 
alogist, in a voice of profound sorrow, after 
the interment was completed, “ too full of 
human sympathies — too little reconciled to 
the all-wise and righteous dispensations of 
Providence, to finish the public services so 
common and proper on such an occasion ! 
Leave me for a brief space, my friends ! 
All depart with the blessings of Heaven ! 
I must weep — I must wrestle in prayer — 
for my heart requires to be melted and re- 
conciled — to be visited with grace from on 
High ! 


CHAPTER LVI. 

But Oh ! wlio can deceive his destiny ! 

Or ween by warning to avoid his fate, 

That when he sleeps in most security, 

And safest seems, him soonest doth amate. 

And findeth due effect, or soon or late. 

So feeble is the power of fleshly arm. 

Spenser. 

My sonj! is this the marriage 
I came to celebrate ? false hopes of man ; 

I come to find a grave here ! 

A Very Woman. 

The sudden and unexpected atrocities 
committed by the Bloody Scout, and the 
death of the lamented Coldfire, produced 
great excitement and commotion. Several 
days were consumed in scouring the coun- 
try, but no traces could be found of the par- 
ty, further than that they were suppo.sed to 
have decamped within the royal lines for 
protection; and the unavailing pursuit 
proved that they were neither to be over- 
taken nor chastised. Matters soon settled 
into their ordinary channels, and the bustle 
and ardor for battle gradually gave way, 
because the proper objects to sustain them 
were not within reach. 

Some two or three weeks afterwards, 
Capt. Gant prevailed on the British au- 
thorities to restore the negroes of Colonel 
Conway, which had been taken by the au- 
thority of Clannagan and Notwood ; whilst 
he obtamed a furlough from his commander 
and a permit from Gen. Green, for an in- 
definite period, to come up to Forest Hill, 
ostensibly to see that the order of restora- 
tion was faithfully executed. 

One fine evening towards autumn, Cato 


and Prudence were seen driving up to 
Forest Hill, whilst their friend the Captain, 
the man of all trades, mounted on his faith- 
ful pony, headed a gang of ragged and 
ill-starred negroes, welcoming their happy 
return home, by obstreperous songs and 
shouts, and repeated efforts at broad humor, 
upon their late captors, and their own mis- 
fortunes, whilst in their possession. 

And not ten days after the events record- 
ed in the last paragraph the two trusty 
friends were found at Mr. Milligan’s, to in- 
vite him and his family to a wedding at 
Forest Hill. They extended their visits 
to Mrs. Grayson’s and Major Walden’s. _ 

It is unnecessary to attempt a descrip- 
tion of the preparations for this nuptial ce- 
lebration ; suffice it to say, they were the 
best the country afforded. Whilst the busy 
scene was in progress, Cathena calmly ex- 
amined her own heart. She had long de- 
liberated on the matter; her reason approv- 
ed the choice, and her heart responded with 
deep affection ; her parents and her lover 
urged a speedy conclusion of the marriage ; 
and she saw no just grounds for further de- 
lay. Two evenings before the appointed 
marriage, whilst Cathena was walking 
alone in the garden, she found a letter di- 
rected to her ; warning her against the in- 
sidious character of Gant; — hinting that 
he was the betrayer of Diana Dash wood, 
who now was a broken hearted out-cast, 
shunned by, and shunning her former 
friends. “ VVill you reward such a cold- 
hearted villain with your hand and proper- 
ty! fly, fly,” it continued, “ to your best 
friends ! If you consult your parents you 
are ruined ; the means are in your grasp ! 
Stay not a moment ; but if you hesitate, if 
you do not now comply, your fate, and that 
of your parents, and Gant’s, are sealed for- 
ever ! You hear the warning, obey it ! if 
you refuse, you are doomed to die, and your 
friends will be led on by you, to the same 
fate. P. S. Fly and consult Mrs. Notwood. 
Mrs. C. C. Cain, your former friend and 
governess. Beware ! beware !” 

Cathena heard a signal ; she screamed 
and rushed half frantic to the house ; and 
exhausted she fell on the neck of her mo- 
ther. “ The letter ! the letter ! it has al- 
most killed me. It has frightened me out 
of my senses.” 

Col. Conway and Gant endeavored to 
explain away the effects of the letter. — 
They insisted with some plausibility, that 
it was the work of some disappointed ene- 
my, who took his revenge and vented his 
spleen in the only way which offered a 
chance to wound their feelings; or it was 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


207 


the work of some inconsiderate waff, who 
prostituted himself to the annoyance of 
others, by anonymous missiles. But who 
can describe the anxiety and the distress 
which Cathena experienced that night. 
The imagination conjured up the most 
frightful phantoms, and those happy mo- 
ments of hope and anticipation, which 
shed a halo around the feelings of the 
young and affianced ! Those delicious 
dreams wliich cause the mind to feel as if 
abstracted from the body ; as if its identity 
with itself were lost; when time and its 
progress are measured by the pulsations of 
tlie exulting heart; were embittered by 
grievous and appalling apparitions of hor- 
rific mein ! — wo ! to those who have such 
presentiments ; which come unbidden and 
go not away with the sweet and cheering 
rays of the morning ; which whisper to the 
imagination until the heart sinks, until the 
body, ground into submission and nervous 
weakness, reacts upon the mind ! Then it 
cowers under its weight, and threatens to 
annihilate the poor machine which holds 
it bound down to such evils! wo! to those 
who are surrounded and pursued by the 
shadow of that invisible demon, which, like 
the sound of the echo, whispers again and 
again its threats, even after the real cause 
has died away ! Such, temporarily at least, 
was the misfortune of Cathena, during the 
two days and nights preceding her wed- 
ding. 

All who had been invited from the neigh- 
borhood of the Sycamores, did not find it 
convenient to come ; but as St. Ille and 
Amelia were apprised that they were to be 
attendants, they cheerfully complied with 
the mandate, and were of course accom- 
panied by their happy lovers. Edward had 
taken the privilege of adding Capt. Buckle- 
belt to the list of invited friends. The 
latter, with Major Walden and Mr. Milli- 
gan, preceded a few minutes their young 
friends, who arrived in the evening in safe- 
ty at Forest Hill. 

About sunset, Capt. Gant, and Felix 
Ashburn, (who, advised by his mother, and 
still smarting under the severe castigation 
of Notwood’s letter to Clannagan, had 
withdrawn from his former associates,) 
W'ere added to the number already present. 
I’he wedding was a private select one. 
The mineralogist, still burning for revenge, 
and anxious to carry the war into the dis- 
tant camps of the enemy, had on the pre- 
ceding day visited Bucklebelt to urge im- 
mediate action ; but being disappointed in 
obtaining an interview, he determined to 
pursue him to Forest Hill. He arrived, 


just as the bride and bridegroom, with their 
attendants, took their appropriate stations 
before the minister, Mr. Milligan ; who had 
been called on to join the happy pair in 
the holy bands of wedlock. 

“ Let me,” exclaimed the mineralogist, 
rushing towards Mr. Milligan, “ interrupt 
this solemn ceremony for a moment ! This 
letter thrown in my way, by an unknown 
hand, forbids the banns, on penalty of im- 
mediate destruction to the whole assembly; 
pause, pause, I beseech you, and prepare 
for immediate defence.” 

“Proceed, Mr. Milligan,” said Major 
Walden, sternly, “ this is another device 
of knaves and conspirators to frighten and 
deceive us. Silence ! once and for all !” 
said Major Walden, fiercely turning and 
facing the mineralogist. 

The mineralogist raised his shrill and 
piercing voice to its highest pitch. “ I feel 
the very foundations of the house of the 
Waldens giving way. The hand-writing 
is Notwood’s, it is the venomous and dead- 
ly hissing of the viper, ere it strikes ! — 
The blood of the innocent be on that head 
which attempts to set aside my timely 
warnings! Oh God! my predictions will 
be fulfilled in vengeance and wrath, upon 
the innocent, as well as upon the obstinate.” 

“Proceed with the ceremony,” said 
Capt. Gant, firmly, “ it is the same device 
already attempted to frighten and annoy 
us !” 

The injunction was obeyed ; but the so- 
lemnization dragged, like the removal of 
heavy artillery from a defeated field. Des- 
pondency and gloom w’ere depicted in every 
countenance. The bold and emphatic 
warning of the mineralogist ! The pallid 
countenance of the bride. The frigid and 
fixed features of the bride-groom, and the 
faltering voice of Mr. Milligan, as he pro- 
nounced them man and wife, added a death- 
like solemnity to this unique scene of gra- 
vity and mystery. And the parties had not 
yet left the floor ; the last benediction of 
amen, to the prayer, had just been pro- 
nounced, w’hen the tall figure of Edir Im- 
merson, her countenance wild and haggard, 
rushed into the room, exclaiming — 

“ Fly ! fly to the thickets ! to the woods ! 
Ohilca and his friends, Clannagan and Not- 
wood, with the Bloody Scout, are upon 
you !” 

Alas ! scarcely were these ill-omened 
\vords pronounced, ere the deafening and 
appalling yells of the Tories w'ere heard ; 
accompanied with the demoniac shouts of 
their leaders, at every door. 

“ Put out the lights ! and let us fight our 


208 


ONSLOW, 


way at the point of our daggers,” shouted 
Biicklebelt. 

“ Never, never,” replied Edward, “di- 
vide out your weapons, seize the carving 
knives from the tables, and let us die like 
men.” 

In the meanwhile, Edir Immerson with 
the quickness of thought, and the strength 
of a giantess, seized iSt. Ille and the bride, 
and rushed out of the room, notwithstand- 
ing the efforts of those within, to prevent 
her. The report of several fire-arms an- 
nounced that she had been discovered by 
the assailing party in her attempt. 

The doors were soon broken open, and 
the well known form of Ohilca, in spite of 
every obstacle, with his sword uplifted, 
rushed towards Edward, who stood firm 
and erect, whilst the beautiful and fright- 
ened Amelia clung wildly to his arm for 
protection ! The whole fury of the contest 
seemed to concentrate around the spot 
where he stood ; undaunted and collected, 
he made several of his assailants fall at his 
feet in death. The prints of the blood- 
stained hands of the 'Crowded combatants 
were marked upon the casings of the doors, 
as they grappled each other in the deadly 
strife. 

The shrill voice of Clannagan, venting 
oaths and imprecations on the Waldens, 
was often heard, amidst the shouts of the 
Bloody Scout. 

Major Walden and Mr. Milligan clung 
to the spot where Edward and Amelia 
stood. The mineralogist, well armed, 
fought around them, with the skill of a ve- 
teran, and the fury of an avenger ; whilst 
Bucklebell and Gant seemed to be in every 
place, so vigilant, active and furious were 
their efforts. 

A slight pause in the bloody tragedy pre- 
vailed. Julian and Notwood were seen 
foot to foot, in deadly strife, with daggers. 

“No quarters, miscreant !” said Julian. 

“ To the heart then,” answered Not- 
wood, striking at Julian. 

“Alas to the heart! I am mortally 
wounded ! you are avenged !” exclaimed 
the pale and haggard wretch, as he looked 
wildly back on Julian, and still repeating as 
he retreated, “ you are avenged. Ay ! to 
the heart ! to the heart !” 

Again the combat deepened 1 again Ohil- 
ica and Clannagan rushed towards Ed ward. 
A brief and rapid clashing of steel is heard 
— Ohilca falls dead. Edward is caught at 
by Amelia, — they both fall lifeless to the 
floor. 

Who can look upon the scene of desola- 
tion ! There, pale and stupified, kneeling 


in puddles of blood, is to be seen the father, 
gazing on the marble form of his daughter, 
clinging in death to her lover! Her beau- 
tiful features, and white dress, dyed by the 
blood of that heart whose every pulsation 
was warmed and quickened by the affec- 
tion he so devotedly cherished towards 
her ! And there is he, with the brow of 
scorn and defiance, still unrelaxed, the 
lover, still with his hand grasping hers^ 
even in death ! Ay, well may you gaze, 
Major Walden, with thy fierce lips com- 
pressed, and thy eyes as if they were ready 
to start from their sockets ! And behold 
Ohilca ! his murderer, his glaring eyeballs 
shooting frenzy and keen revenge ! And, 
look, there stand the statue-like forms of 
thy sister and her husband ! they, like thee, 
are gazing on the jewel of thy heart, Ay ! 
and of their own too ! 

Gant and Julian, now that the assailants 
had retreated outside of the house, and now 
that the rage of battle seemed to be over, 
looked with intense anxiety on the scene ; 
they beheld many of their enemies amongst 
the dead ; and they saw most of their 
friends, the living and the dead. But St. 
Ille, Cathena, where were they 1 They 
rushed wildly out in despair, to ascertain 
their fate. 

At length the cry of fire was heard, the 
rumbling flames are near. The thick lurid 
smoke, choked in the garrets, poured down 
in suffocating masses. Louder and louder 
sounded the crackling flames. The hot 
air parches and suffocates those who still 
remain in the house. 

“ Retreat !” shouted Cato, who rushed in- 
to the house, and seizing his master and mis- 
tress, pulled them out at the nearest door. 

“Retreat,” shouted Bucklebelt, “I will 
save the living, the roof is tumbling in 
upon us.” 

“ Save the living,” said the mineralo- 
gist, who, roused from his mute astonish- 
ment at the scene through which he had 
just passed, seized Mr. Milligan and forci- 
bly dragged him out, breaking his grasp 
from the body of his daughter. 

“ You shall leave the house,” vociferat- 
ed Bucklebelt aloud, as he fiercely strug- 
gled and compelled Major Walden to leave 
his position ; shoving him backwards out 
at the only place of escape. At that in- 
stant, Gant and Julian, disappointed in find- 
ing those they were seeking, and fearing 
that they might be in some part of the 
house, attempted to rush in by Bucklebelt ; 
imminent peril threatened them all ; but 
Edir Immerson was in time to assist 
1 Bucklebelt, just before the crashing build- 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


209 


in^ fell, throwing its burning brands in 
every direction. 

“ I have saved the bride, St. Ille is safe. 
Let iis retreat before Clannagan renews 
the attack ; his work of destruction is not 
yet over; follow me,” said Edir, as she led 
the way, in a hurried pace. 

“ Oh, God ! righteous are thy judg- 
ments,” said the mineralogist aloud, as he 
turned to take his last look upon the scene 
of devastation, and saw the angry sparks, 
still blazing and shooting upwards, “ we 
may not comprehend them, by our shallow 
understandings, — but still in the end, they 
will prove thy inscrutable wisdom. Thy 
heavy hand has fallen with more force than 
I had calculated, and on some that I did 
not expect ; but glory forever to thy name. 
Behold, my prophecies are fulfilling. The 
glorious era of my usefulness approaches ; 
my great and wonderful discoveries will 
be realized.” 


CHAPTER LVII. 

Aim. — What! how’s this? 

A dismal sound ! come nearer, cousin, lay 
Your ear close to the ground — closer, I pray you — 
Do you howl ? Are you there, Antonio ? 

In the vault, in hell, on the infernal rack. 

How he roars. 

I do begin to pity him. 

A Very Woman. 

The falling avalanche, that hurries the 
sleeping inhabitants of a devoted city deep 
beneath its ruins ! The tornado of the tor- 
rid regions, which springs up with its 
quick, white and whirling clouds, and 
spreads sudden and terrific ruin in a mo- 
ment, are not more appalling and stunning 
on the minds of those who may escape, 
than was that terrible scene just described, 
upon the agonized bosoms of many of those 
who now, more like walking automatons 
than persons endowed with ideas of self- 
preservation, gave themselves up to reck- 
less indifference. Mrs. Conway and her 
husband, and Major Walden and Mr. Mil- 
ligan, were forced away, as they stood 
gazing, in this state of mind, upon the 
funeral pile, as it still flung up its hot and 
burning cinders and steam on the surround- 
ing air. 

There is q silence which is observed by 
those who have a proper respect for the 
heart-stricken and the despairing ! — there 
are moments when the feeling and the 
wise dare not provoke the just scorn of 
their friends by attempting to offer ill- 


timed consolation ! — when their own rea- 
son teaches them that there is no cure, no 
palliative ! Oh ! that state of suspense ! — 
that fixed agony of heart ! for the alle- 
viation of which the most fruitful imagina- 
tion cannot conjure up change or remedy 
this side of the tomb! 

Bucklebelt, desponding and slightly 
wounded, led his friend. Major Walden, 
like a sullen sacrifice going, to the altar. 
Edir Immerson was the guiding spirit of 
the party — the others were wounded, or so 
exhausted and overwhelmed by the late 
scene, that they were of little service to 
each other, as they groped their way in 
the dark. The consternation of Cato* had 
abated as soon as he saw the flames, and 
met with an object, although appalling, 
which his mind fully comprehended. He 
now rendered constant attentions, assisted 
by Ash burn, to his mistress and master. 
1’he mineralogist attempted to console and 
aid Mr. Milligan. 

The party having been conducted to a 
place of apparent security by Edir Immer- 
son, she declared that the safety of all re- 
quired that they should halt, and observe 
complete silence. 

“ Ere morning the Bloody Scout may re- 
treat,” said she, “but I know not their 
plans.” 

Then whispering to Julian, she said — 

“Tell St. Ille that you must go back 
with me, to reconnoitre the course of the 
enemy. I pledge my life that you shall 
receive no injury.” 

After obtaining the reluctant assent of 
St. Ille, Julian and his mysterious friend 
set out on their seemingly perilous adven- 
ture, leaving the mineralogist deeply en- 
gaged in pouring consolation in the wound- 
ed spirit of Mr. Milligan, who, at any other 
time, might have been able to reciprocate 
the well meant favor ; but there are times 
when the mind falls back to its youthful 
days of obedience and reliance, yielding 
itself to the guidance of those who may 
first attempt to sway it. 

Sleep ! thou wonderful sequence of man’s 
organization ! — the balm of weariness ! — 
the restorer of strength from mental and 
corporeal exhaustion ! — thou, too, hast thy 
clouds and thy phantoms ! Who hath not 
looked with torturing wonder on thy lieart- 
less mockings of the friends of the dying I 
seducing the senses one by one into thy 
oblivious embraces, and shedding calmness 
and serenity when the heart and the mind 
should be keeping vigils ! should be learn- 
ing tiie necessary preparations for the hour 
of judgment ! Ah 1 who hath not shud- 


210 


ONSLOW, 


dered at the dark phantoms, and wild 
imaginings which are aroused under thy 
deceitful semblance of repose 1 But above 
all, the heart of the beholder shudders and 
sickens at thy deceitful whispers of hope 
and life to tiie doomed and dying ! To see 
them awake, and put out their trembling 
hands, and tell tiieir friends that they are 
better ! — that they have just had a dream, 
and that they were to be restored to their 
friends, and to the pleasures of life again ! 
And then to be called back into thy em- 
braces — ay ! to the cold and chilling one 
of thy own destroyer — Death ! 

Gant sat with his bride leaning on his 
bosom — he heard the mutterings and sighs 
which escaped from her in her broken 
slumbers — he felt the convulsive twitch- 
ings of her frame, and heard the words of 
agony, each falling on his sympathizing 
heart — he felt the hot tears trickle on his 
hand ! 

“ Oh, my God !” said he, “ the dreadful 
pageant still pursues and harasses her in 
her sleep. I fear her mind will be injured. 
I cannot endure to see her undergo such 
exquisite tortures. Cathena, dearest ! — 
wake up ! Be not affrighted — t will pro- 
tect thee !” 

“ Let her sleep !” said Walden ; “ let 
the deceitful emblem of oblivion menace 
her with the shadow of the horrible tragedy 
for a few hours. The yells — the groans — 
the clash of steel — the spouting blood — and 
the fiery eyes of Notwood — the hyena-grin 
of Clannagan, still ring in my ears, and 
stare me in the face. Oh ! for oblivion ! — 
for an hour — for a day ! And then to think 
of the looks of Conway — the heroic agony 
of his wife — as they rushed forward to cast 
their looks upon the young lion of our 
house ! Let Cathena sleep ! — let her sleep, 
and shut out the realities which would 
mock her with tenfold fury ! I wish I 
could steep my brains in the waters of 
Lethe. To think that all I have lived for, 
or valued, is lost — just as we had accom- 
plished our independence against your in- 
fernal comrades ! Forgive me, Gant — I 
am almost frantic. Yes, the flower of 
chivalry — the very form and essence of 
beauty and honor — is now a mass of cin- 
ders and ashes, in that pile of rubbish.” 

“Yes,” replied the mineralogist, “if 
you had listened to my proposals two 
years ago, then these calamities would 
not have fallen on thee. Did I not tell 
thee that thy brain would be maddened, 
and that the agonies of the damned would 
fall on thee !” 


“ Oh ! that we had !” exclaimed Mrs- 
Con way. 

Bucklebelt, roused by the loud voice of 
the mineralogist from his unquiet slum- 
bers, interposed to induce silence. 

“I hear thee, Bucklebelt — but let me 
say, that I have saved the noble patron of 
my science. The catastrophe draws to 
its finale — justice is more than satiated. 
The dawn of light and science must soon 
follow.” 

“For God’s sake!” said Bucklebelt, to 
the mineralogist, “ probe not the wounds 
of Major Walden, whilst he is under the 
great afflictions of Providence, for I am 
sure that he, and you, and I, and the whole 
country, have sustained an irreparable loss, 
for truly Edward Conway was the very 
gem of chivalry.” 

Whilst these scenes were transpiring, 
Edir Immerson, soon after she and Julian 
started, declared to Julian her great fears 
lest the Bloody Scout should still renew 
the attack. At length, she said — 

“ After I left you at the Giant’s Cave, 
I returned back to my old settlement. I 
watched the emissaries of Clannagan and 
Notwood, and would have prevented mis- 
chief — but the arch intriguers came them- 
selves, and judge of my horror and con- 
sternation when Ohilca proposed that the 
whole of the Waldens, with others, should 
be massacred in cold blood I I immediately 
determined to risk my life to save you. I 
was forbidden to leave the neighborhood, 
and was left to take charge of Kelonah. 
But I have saved you, and rescued your 
future bride. Play not the part of unkind- 
ness — of unfairness — of inequality ! I saw 
the wild gray eyes of Clannagan as he 
pointed to you, and urged on his bloody 
allies, as I rushed by him ! I saw the wild 
and blood-shot eyes of Notwood, haggard 
at the fiend-like part he had played, the 
blood gushing from his breast, exclaiming, 
as he rushed away from the carnage — 
‘Fool! fool, that I was, to listen to the 
counsels of Clannagan ! I am mortally 
wounded by Julian — and all! all is lost!” 

“But, alas!” replied Julian, “Edward 
Conway and Amelia Milligan — ” 

“ Repine not — they have escaped,” said 
Edir, “ from the machinations of tlie wick- 
ed, and the disasters incident to life. Be 
silent ! — I hear the sound of a human 
voice !” 

In attempting to approach the ruins of 
Forest Hill, in a different direction from 
the way they had retreated, the piteous 
wailings, curses, and prayers of some one 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


211 


were heard alternately using abusive epi- 
thets and imprecations on his own folly, 
and then in prayers for longer life. 

“That,” said Julian, “is the voice of 
Notwood. Let us cautiously approach to 
where he is, and render him assistance.” 

About an hundred yards from the still 
blazing timbers, which threw its light high 
and gloomily around, they found the un- 
fortunate wretch leaning against an oak, 
which in some degree had sheltered him 
from the falling pieces of flaming materials 
which had filled the air, and covered the 
earth around. A thicket of undergrowth, 
which led off from this position, suffered 
the two visitors to approach without being 
exposed by the light of the fire to the ob- 
servation of the enemy, should they be 
near. They had approached within a few 
yards, when they were shocked by the re- 
newal of the wailings and execrations of 
Notwood, who exclaimed — 

“ Burn on, terrestrial hell ! I ’m parched 
and scorched ! The very air heats my 
lungs — the faint emblem of that which lies 
gaping for me. Would to God ! I could 
see Clannagan and Rawdon, Cornwallis 
and Tarleton frying in your still unslaked 
fires ! Poor Diana ! The flattery — the 
threats — ay ! and the damned drugs and 
medicaments! ’T were well if thy still 
aching heart could sleep with its wrongs 
in the house of silence. But you have 
been avenged by the hand of Julian ! Oh! 
my children, what a legacy — what a name 
of blood and dark hellish crimes is left 
you ! My broken-hearted wife — I will not 
pollute her name ! The dark plots against 
my relations ! — against Onslow ! And last, 
the horrible scene still before me ! The 
desire to postpone the execution of the 
deed, and not the courage to avert it, or 
refuse a. share in the expected profits! 
Blaze on, thou smouldering heap, and hide 
in oblivion the bloody deeds of this night 
from the blaze of day! Oh! that T could 
burn, with my deceivers, in your hot and 
consuming flames!” 

“ Let us remove him,” whispered Julian ; 
“ his brain is bewildered, and he is parched 
with thirst!” 

“ No, let him belch out the misdeeds of 
your race to the fiery winds of Heaven! 
Let him ease his soul of the mountain 
which would weigh it down to the seven 
times heated fires of the burning lake 
which now awaits his doomed spirit!” 

Edir had scarcely finished this awful 
sentence, in a low and solemn tone, when 
Clannagan emerged from behind an out- 
building — which stood near to where Not- 


wood lay, and which had escaped the 
flames — and riding close up to the dying 
man, and looking down for a few moments, 
said, with a bitter laugh — 

“ Ha ! ha ! I have been listening. You 
die like a craven — consistent with yourself 
to the last — with lies on your tongue ! Let 
me tell thee, caitiff) how to make confes- 
sions. Say that you planned Onslow’s ar- 
rest in the North, and his conveyance 
hither, in order to have a semblance to 
obtain the property of old Walden — say 
that you was a leading advocate for con- 
fiscations, murders and retaliations ! — say 
that but for your avarice and lust, the 
country would now be under its rightful 
rulers — confess that you deceived me when 
I had at different times my enemies in my 
hands — Onslow, Walden, Gant, and the 
Conways ! — and last, and not least, con- 
fess that you have been a traitor to your 
wife, to your country, and even now to 
your own soul ! I leave thee, detested 
wretch, to finish thy cowardly existence — 
thy carcase to the beasts and the ravens, 
and thy soul, if aught thou hast, to the jus- 
tice due its long course of deception, in- 
trigue, and villanies, of the deepest and 
darkest die. I have wasted away the 
flower of my life — spent my talents in 
vain. T have no followers left! — dead — 
murdered by your blunders, or panic- 
stricken efforts ! All — all is lost ! Curses 
on the country ! I leave it, to seek more 
congenial spirits — and wo ! on those of its 
inhabitants, friends or foes, who • may 
chance to fall into my hands!” 

Thus ended the disappointed partisan — 
and putting spurs to his charger, suddenly 
disappeared, whilst his terrible impreca- 
tions still floated on the air. 

“ Oh, don’t leave me. Colonel Clanna- 
gan ! Save my life ! Water — water ! 
Ah! ” continued the dying man, “ my de- 
stroyer is gone. Oh! that I could grapple 
and rend his throat ! I would slake my 
thirst in his heart’s blood !” 

“I can withstand his cries no longer,” 
said Julian, running to his assistance. 

He found him with his eyes fixed and 
glazed — his lips closed, and his jaws im- 
movable — his pulse gone, and the cold, 
damp perspiration was death-like to the 
touch. Julian’s heart melted — he started 
for water — but Edir called him back. 

“ Too late !” she exclaimed, “ his limbs 
are stiff — he is dead !” 

After a pause of several minutes, in 
which they both gazed in mute horror 
upon the corse, Edir continued — 

“Examine his pockets — perhaps there 


212 


ONSLOW, 


may be schemes for more massacres ! 
More letters which you miglit fear to 
read — perhaps some relic, which the be- 
trayed wretch might mourn over — some- 
thing from the poor broken-hearted wife, 
ere he deceived her.” 

“ No, no !” replied Julian ; “ I shall not 
pry into the secrets of the dead.” 

“ Be it so !” said Edir, seizing the dead 
body, and with frantic energy running up 
to the very flames, and flinging it in the 
midst of the heated coals, exclaiming 
wildly — 

“ There — Not wood ! Thou hast thy earn- 
est wish fulfilled !” 

Julian was too much shocked by the aw- 
ful death just witnessed, to have penetrated 
through the designs of Edir, ere it was too 
late ; he looked with amazement upon the 
scene — he could not be reconciled to the 
propriety of the act. 

“Ah!” she exclaimed, “you cannot fa- 
thom my motives! You think me heartless 
and profane ; but recollect it was the body 
— the clay without the soul ; we had no 
time for burials, the beasts of the field 
would have preyed , upon his corpse ; and 
we have the living awaiting our return. 
Tell me is his body better thanl — I will 
not call their names with his — I have acted 
wisely ; I have kindly fulfilled his dying 
request.” 

Suddenly the sounds of horses’ feet are 
heard, nearer and nearer. There, there ! 
in the full blaze of the fire, whose light is 
widely extended, sits Clannagan on his 
sable charger ; the very flames are reflected 
from his smooth and glossy coat. Rider and 
steed seem to listen! “Fool,” said Clan- 
nagan, “he still pursues me; ’tis well! 
his last hour is at hand.” 

And, behold ! There is Bucklebelt, 
mounted on his own Avalanche, confront- 
ing his bitterest foe ! Why doth he pause 1 
Is he blinded by the strong glare of the 
flames'? or is his heart appalled at the 
coming contest? 

“ I fled from the darkness, not from Buc- 
klebelt ; a fair exchange of long deferred, 
though oft sought civilities, by the funeral 
fires of our mutual friends and foes,” ex- 
claimed Clannagan. 

“ I thank thee for the fair challenge,” 
answered Bucklebelt, “ but why lose time 
in parley ?” 

“ Be not too hasty,” replied Clannagan, 
“ need I swear that one, or both of us shall 
die? Need I tell thee, Bucklebelt, that 
there shall be quarters neither taken nor 
given ? But I left Not wood a few minutes 
ago dying, at tlie foot of yonder oak ; I 


thought I beheld dark figures moving be- 
neath its shadows ; I fain would fathom the 
mystery. I wish not his craven spirit to 
hover around me, in this the greatest con- 
test of my life.” 

“ Thou canst not alarm me, by threaten- 
ing me with Notwood or his ghost ! Either 
would be thy fit attendant, forsooth, at all 
times,” replied Bucklebelt indignantly. 

“ Liar, prepare ! Amulet, Amulet ! to 
the charge,” shouted Clannagan. 

Long shadows of armed horsemen fly 
towards each other ; the earth resounds 
from the violent springs made by the two 
powerful chargers! The clash of swords 
is heard, and the falling flakes of steel 
burning to the very ground, attest the vio- 
lence and frequency of the blows. Tlu 
combatants pass each other ; Clannagai 
whirls suddenly, and bending close to tin 
head of his horse, whispers for a momen 
in his ear ; then driving his rowels dee 
into his flanks, he shouts, “ Amulet ! Amu 
let ! to the charge !” The infuriated stee 
obeys the magic commands of his master- 
he rushes forwards with ears turned bac 
and wide extended mouth — he rears, ar 
plunging headlong, strikes furiously : 
Avalanche. Brave Amulet! the strong bio 
aimed at thy rider has cost thee thy lif 
The horse of Bucklebelt had scarcely tin 
to recover from the late unexpected ai 
terrible shock, which threw him backwar 
almost on his haunches, when the not 
charger of Clannagan, gashed deep ir 
the skull, staggered a little distance a 
fell dead. 

In an instant both riders are on their 
feet. “Revenge for Amulet; remember 
too, I wield the sword that drank the 
blood of Coldfire’s heart,” whispered Clan- 
nagan, as he gazed with demoniac fury in 
the steady unblenching eyes of Bucklebelt, 
still watching and parrying his heav)/ and 
oft repeated blows. 

Clannagan’s agility, dexterity and quick- 
ness seemed to match well the might and 
calm precision of his antagonist. But the 
countenance of Bucklebelt, as if infuriated 
by the last words of Clannagan, grew dark 
as the murky clouds of smoke which flew 
over his head, as he said, “ I thank thee, 
murderer, for that name of terror to thy 
guilty conscience. Know then that I wield 
his sword !” and then in a voice of thunder, 
he shouted, “ Coldfire and his sword for- 
ever !” 

Still round and round, closer and closer, 
fiercer and faster strike the well matched 
and life-in-hand combatants. 

“ Oh God !” muttered Julian to Edir, as 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


213 


they behekf unobserved the thrilling spec- 
tacle. “ Oh God ! hold me not here ! let 
me fly and prevent Bucklebelt’s death. It 
is I, Edir Immerson, who should be wield- 
ing his sword against Clannagan. If the 
murderer must have more victims — if he 
still thirst for more blood and revenge, let 
me be the- sacrifice, not Bucklebelt, who 
has a wife and dependent children.” 

“ What! dost thou distrust the cause, 
and the skill of Bucklebelt'! Disturb not 
his well directed blows ! Hear me, hear 
me, Julian ! did I not swear to return thee 
unhurt to St. Ille 1 Let me entreat thee 
not to rush unarmed between the swords of 
madmen !” 

“I will save Bucklebelt or perish,” ex- 
claimed Julian, as he tore himself violently 
away from the strong and earnest grasp of 
Edir. 

“ Coldfire and liis sword forever !” again 
shouted Bucklebelt, as he drew his success- 
ful weapon, dyed and dripping from the 
side of his conquered and fallen foe. 

“Heaven be praised,” said Julian, as he 
grasped the hand of his brave friend. “ I 
hope you have escaped unhurt from the 
many well-aimed blows of your determined 
and powerful adversary.” 

“ Yes, Heaven be praised for my protec- 
tion,” replied Bucklebelt, “and more espe- 
cially,” continued he with more seriousness, 
“ in having permitted me to accomplish the 
burning wish of my life, to meet in fair 
fight the much vaunted leader of the Bloody 
Scout.” 

“ Ha ! Julian Onslow and Edir Immer- 
son, we have met again 1” said Clannagan, 
as he raised up, resting his head on his 
hand, and gazing intently on the still fierce 
and burning flames. “ Aye ! you were the 
spectres I saw, and which so troubled me ; 
I am dying ! Bucklebelt, Onslow, look on 
me, and see how calmly a soldier, your 
mortal foe, can die. Too late ! too late ! 
Oh for life and chance to play my part 
over again ; to take revenge on each of 
you I Coldfire, and Edward Conway, they 
sleep ! Not wood, the hated Not wood, where 
is he '? tell me, does he still live 

Edir, with horror depicted in her coun- 
tenance, pointed towards the fire, saying, 

“ There, there ! see you that dark and 
restless vapor '! It issues from the ashes 
of thy friend — ’twas his wish; his dying 
words still tingle in my ears !” 

“ Burn me not in the same fires with 
Notwood. No ! nor my brave Amulet. 
Bury my good Amulet and myself together 
in the satne grave ; and my doomed sword 
too I There is money, Bucklebelt, in my 

15 


pocket; give it to Conway for a grave, and 
pay yourself and the slaves who may assist 
you. I ask no favors, even in death, of a 
Walden, a Conway, nor of you, Bucklebelt, 
without buying it ! Bury me on the cliff 
which overlooks the fretting waters below; 
and they, when the hoarse winds lash up 
their muddy billows, will resemble the 
choked up and troubled current which fed 
my own heart. Poor Amulet, I taught 
thee too much. Avaunt !” continued the 
exhausted and fast dying wretch, as Julian 
attempted to assist him ; “ touch me not ! 
Lay not your rebel hands upon me; my 
proud spirit shall be free to the last. Yes, 
sweet relic, sweet picture! I have kept 
thee fast through many an hour of peril ; 
when the heart was chafed like a lion, 
ready to bite through his prison bars. Let 
me gaze once again on the features of in- 
nocence ! Of her who loved me when I 
was innocent. Am I not now innocent'!” 

The miniature which he had drawn from 
his bosom, and so feelingly addressed, fell 
from his trembling hand. Bucklebelt pick- 
ed it up, saying, 

“ Let me bear this precious relic of Ra- 
chel Walden to her sister; it will recall 
her features, in this the hour of her great 
afflictions.” 

“ Barest thou look on it, Bucklebelt, and 
speak of afflictions '! think rather of trea- 
chery ! Think of the rankling thorn you 
assisted to plant in my bosom. Ay, I have 
it again ! Dearest image, I cannot see 
thee — my eyes are glazed; but I will kiss 
thee. My hands refuse to obey my W’ill. 
Wretches, wait — wait a moment longer ! 
Take not my talisman from me; a little 
while and I will even die. Ha ! ha ! they 
wish me dead — they grow impatient. 
Avaunt ! I will not die ! Safe at last 
from their polluted hands,” continued 
Clannagan, thrusting the miniature be- 
tween his teeth, and with a strong effort 
of his jaws, champing it to fragments. He 
lay still for several moments, as if already 
dead ; then suddenly starting up, almost 
regaining his feet, he shouted in a shrill 
and wild voice, “ Amulet ! Amulet ! to the 
charge !” and fell breathless to the earth 
before he could be assisted ; so startling 
and unexpected were his last words and 
dying struggles to those who looked on his 
fearful exit. 

Bucklebelt, after inquiring more fully 
into the particulars of Notwood’s manner 
of death, stated that fearing some injury 
might befall his two friends, he had bor- 
rowed the sword of the mineralogist, and 
mounted his horse with a faint hope of 


214 


ONSLOW, 


falling in with Clannagan. “ We met point 
blank in the dark, 1 called him by name ; 
he turned and fled — I pursued him, brand- 
ing him with fear. But I was wrong,” 
continued Bucklebelt, “ I will do him jus- 
tice ; he was daring even to a fault, and 
was every inch of him, from the crown of 
his head to the sole of his foot, true game ; 
he had but one kind of fear — a grievous 
defect indeed — it was the fear of being 
called merciful. But we lose time, our 
friends will grow impatient — each of you 
return, and send Capt. Tidder with suffi- 
cient assistance to do as Clannagan has 
directed ; I will join you early in the morn- 
ing. Good night ! I must attend to Ava- 
lanche, he is getting alarmed at the death- 
stillness and blood of poor Amulet — the 
demon steed, as I have often heard him 
called in moments of terror.” 

Edir led the way to the spot where their 
friends had been left; her wild and fiery 
spirit seemed invigorated by the hitherto 
thrilling and thronging scenes of the night ; 
whilst Julian, now that the tension of ex- 
citement was somewhat abated, appeared 
exhausted and stupified. 

Felix Ashburn burst forth into loud laugh- 
ter of horror, when Edir, \yho was ever 
sensitive to the wrongs of her sex, repeated 
the last words of Notwood in relation to 
the betrayed and ruined Miss Dash wood, 
“ Then his victim, the unfortunate Diana, 
is avenged, ha ! ha !” 

“ ‘ Vengennce is mine, and I will repay, 
saith the Lord,’ ” replied the mineralogist. 

“ Ay, you say right for once,” replied 
Edir. “ For notwithstanding Julian and 
myself left Bucklebelt wounded — notwith- 
standing the darkness of the night — and 
notwithstanding Clannagan’s solemn reso- 
lution to quit the country forever, made 
with curses over the dying body of Not- 
wood ; yet I have seen him suddenly return 
to the same spot, and there meet the retri- 
butive justice of Heaven, falling under the 
sword of Bucklel^lt.” 

The mineralogist, unmindful of his well 
meant reproof to Ashburn, regardless of 
the occasion and the exhausted state of 
those around him, burst forth incoherently, 
exclaiming, 

“I am wronged by my senior officer; 
and by you too, Julian Onslow. You should 
have made the challenge in my name. 
Did not each of them hear my solemn 
vows, made over tlie body of the hitherto 
unrivaled soldier of modern times, Marquis 
Coldfire 1 Swore I not before high Hea- 
ven to avenge his death with my own 
hands, and with the trusty sword which he 


bequeathed to me in his dying hourl My 
cherished revenge hath been snatched from 
me ! ’Tis true I could forgive personal 
injuries, but the murder of Lieut. Coldfire 
was a public one; T was his selected 
avenger. I have lost, alas ! that commo- 
tion which rouses the heart to seek great 
dangers as the acme of bliss ! I hoped to 
have pressed the bleeding bosom of Clan- 
nagan to my own ; I felt his warm heart’s 
blood trickle, drop by drop, from the wound 
of the avenging sword. I did hope to have 
snatched his last expiatory groans from 
the winds, and borne them to the grave of 
my friend ! But I was even denied the 
gleam of the avenging sword, as it reflected 
on his startled vision; the angry fires, 
which still shoot upwards to mark his path 
of wrath and death, after he has ceased to 
live.” 

Julian ran to the mineralogist, he seized 
him by the hand, 

“ Be not desponding,” said he, “ have 
you not fought at all points in the great 
struggle of the night! Wielded you not 
a sword that drank deeply of blood ! Aye, 
and was not a part of your vow that the 
sword of Coldfire should be dyed in the 
heart’s blood of Clannagan ! Be thankful 
to Heaven that the most important part of 
your prayer and your vow has been accom- 
plished ! I heard the battle cry of Buckle- 
Ijelt as it rang on the startled air ! Be con- 
tent, it was ‘ Coldfire and his sword for- 
ever !’ ” 

“Aha!” muttered the mineralogist to 
himself, “Coldfire and his sword forever!' 
Yes, the craven coward, conscience-stricken 
under those potential words. Aha ! I do 
remember now ; I parted with the sword 
for the first time — I then parted with the 
locks of Sampson ! No wonder that Buc- 
klebelt burned to wield it ! Yes !” said the 
mineralogist in a louder voice, “ I do for-- 
give thee, Julian Onslow — I forgive thee, 
Bucklebelt ! Although the avengement 
was not completed in jot and tittle, as I had 
hoped and predicted, yet I will humbly 
bow to the wise decrees of Him, who hath 
truly said, ‘Vengeance is mine, and I will 
repay.’ ” 

Clannagan’s death dissipated all appre- 
hension of an attack, and as soon as Capt. 
Bucklebelt had performed the duties which 
he had assigned himself, the party set out, 
(after having obtained the necessary as- 
sistance for traveling,) to the hospitable 
mansion of Mrs. Grayson.^ Edir Immerson, 
without taking leave of any one, had dis- 
appeared before morning. 

The scene at Mrs. Grayson’s was too 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


215 


sad to dwell upon; the meeting of rela- 
tions, stunned and overwhelmed by their 
mutual losses — of friends whose well meant 
condolence was thriftless and unavailing ! 
All can be imagined — not described. 

In a few days, Mr. Milligan’s family de- 
parted to a home, where the innocent 
smiles of beauty and love, which were 
wont to add so much to its attractions, 
could no more come — tears to thy memory, 
bright and artless Amelia ! 

Mrs. Grayson and Julian prevailed on 
Col. Conway and Capt. Gant to remain 
with their wives at the Sycamores. But 
Major Walden, silent and moody, would 
return to the chill and solitary Hall, to 
mourn over his ruined hopes ; no more to 
be cheered by the life and buoyancy of the 
glory and idol of his heart! The storm 
may bend the young oak, but in after years 
it scarcely survives its fury ; and those 
who looked upon the care-worn features of 
Major Walden, might well imagine that 
they beheld the emblem of the shattered 
monarch of the forest after it had been rent 
to the core. Bucklebelt, of all his ac- 
quaintances, was the only one whose pre- 
sence for a long time was tolerated with 
any show of kindness. 

The mineralogist had his name erased 
as Lieutenant, and after spending a day or 
two at Bucklebelt’s, and in visiting the 
grave of his friend, departed without stat- 
ing when he would return, or where he 
could be found. 


CHAPTER LVIIl. 

King conscience sits upon his awful throne, 

And bids our long forgotten actions rise, 

And as they come in troops, or one by one. 

The startled sight their numbers multiplies ! — 

How few, alas ! beneath the spangled sky. 

Can turn the page of memory, to each lid. 

And not find deeds, o’er which to weep and sigh. 
Such as they wish were in oblivion hid. 

Anon. 

Julian was much astonished and gratified 
one evening, whilst sitting and conversing 
with St. Ille, and deploring the unreason- 
able pledge which the mineralogist had ex- 
torted from them, in regard to their mar- 
riage without his assent, to see him ap- 
proaching the house, in company with Edir 
Immerson. 

“ I am now a wanderer, seeking some 
place to die at,” said Edir, as she reached 
outlier hand to Julian; “my heartbeats 
sadly, as if it had lost all its energy, and 
my poor brain is bewildered ; I left you to 
go and protect the fatherless Kelonah. The 


poor innocent and sweet girl has found a 
kind guardian, in a distant relation. But 
her heart is dead. It lies buried with the 
ashes of Edward Conway’s. And I will 
own no master, — and I will not, — I dare 
not, after he has so wronged me, after so 
many dark years have passed, go to Mcll- 
haney’s.” 

St. Ille kindly assured Edir of her affec- 
tionate regard, and besought her with deep 
earnestness to make her mother’s house 
her home, whilst Julian avowed his lasting- 
gratitude towards her ; and declared his 
determination ever to prove a friend, at all 
times and under any circumstances. 

“It is I,” said the mineralogist, “who 
have waked up the sad and slumbering 
thoughts of the past, in Edir Imrnerson’s 
breast. There is no time for words now — 
no time for compliments or promises. i|The 
propitious hour for action has arrived. And 
I, Geoffrey Jarvis, sometimes astrologer, 
and lieutenant, but now, chiefly mineralo- 
gist, command you, Julian, to accompany 
Edir Immerson and myself to the residence 
ofMicajah Walden, without further parley 
or delay.” 

“ I dislike to refuse any command, or re- 
quest which you may make,” replied Juli- 
an, “ but on this occasion I cannot obey 
you.” 

“ I command you then, myself,” said 
Edir, with great emotion. “ I command 
you, by all the sleepless nights and the 
dangers I have passed and encountered on 
your account; I command you in the name 
of your own honor, in the name of — ” she 
suddenly ceased, too much affected to pro- 
ceed. 

“ It shall be so,” said the mineralogist, 
the full drops of sweat trickling down his 
forehead. “ The horoscope is full, — the 
scene is posting to its close.” 

“Never will I again put my fool in his 
house, until I am requested by him,” firmly 
answered Julian, witnessing with great in- 
terest the agitated features of these strange 
and wayward beings. 

“ He shall be humbled then ; he shall 
write,” said the mineralogist, as he caught 
at this new plan of annoying Micajah Wal- 
den. “Time is on the wing ; daughter of 
the woods, — stir up your heart for thrilling 
scenes ; for harsh words, and for the wail- 
ing of the damned,” added the mineralogist, 
as he shook Julian by the hand. 

Edir and the mineralogist passing by the 
residence of Bucklebelt, compelled him, 
somewhat reluctantly, to join them in their 
visit to Major Walden. They surprised 
the latter, looking over the letters of his la- 


216 


ONSLOW, 


mentecl nephew, which he had at different 
times received from him. He was pale 
and in tears. Not far from her uncle, sat 
Cathena, in deep mourning:; her husband, 
with her father and mother, having gone to 
Forest Hill, to make necessary preparations 
for removing thither. 

Edir immediately addressed Cathena in 
a voice of kindness. “ Be not offended, af- 
flicted one ! — I, too, have had afflictions and 
wrongs. I corneas a friend, and must en- 
treat you to leave the room for a few mo- 
ments.” Then turning as soon as Cathe- 
na had complied with her request, to the 
astonished and bewildered Walden, she 
continued, “ I have come in the name of 
Heaven, to claim long-sleeping justice, at 
your hands. Yes ! deferred, postponed for 
twenty-one years. I come not to upbraid, 
— I will let the deep and burning oaths, 
due your deeds and your race, burn up in 
my heart. I throw my own crying wrongs 
to the winds of heaven, to be gathered up 
in the great day of accounts. Hear me ! 
stern man, I see thy brows knit, as if to 
keep down the scorpion stings of conscience. 
But here in the presence of that eye, be- 
fore whom you swore to cherish, honor and 
defend Edir Immerson, — T, the same out- 
cast and neglected Edir, swear never to 
leave you, until you do justice to Julian 
Onslow !” 

“ What have you to do with the vile con- 
spirator now at your back 1 have 1 not given 
my assent to his marriage ? have 1 not de- 
clared my readiness to yield him up all 
right and title to the portion due Miss 
Grayson 1 is this injustice!” replied Major 
Walden, and then looking at Bucklebelt, 
with a stare of unheeded reprobation, he 
exclaimed, — “ How is thisl have you, too, 
joined the conspirators against me ? the in- 
cendiary scout who has laid waste our 
neighborhood? Am I never to have a mo- 
ment’s respite from the vagabond herd ?” 

“ I rise above all passions, — I heed no 
epithets, — I am ®ot the mere individual 
Geoffrey Jarvis, No I I am the chosen in- 
strument of mighty events, and am not to 
be diverted by the idle breath of man, from 
their prosecution,- to the ultima thule of my 
duty. Will proof upon proof satisfy you ? 
If so,” continued the mineralogist, throw- 
ing down bundle after bundle, “ read, until 
your eye-balls are seared ; until your brain 
is scorched, — yes,” continued the excited 
speaker, “ a voice from the grave of your 
father will issue from this tin case; which 
will startle up the deep buried crimes of 
twenty-one years. I come to prove to you, 
and to the world, that my protege is your 


lawful son, and is rightful heir to the house 
of Walden.” 

Major Walden sunk overpowered in his 
chair, — his stout frame heaved, and the li- 
vid hue of his complexion added a despe- 
ration to his appearance, as if his mind bor- 
dered on insanity. “ VVater — Bucklebelt, 
call in Cathena. Oh God !” whispered the 
agonized man, as he leant his anxious and 
throbbing brow on his hand, “ support me.” 

“ Ay I” laughed Edir, wildly, until the 
tears trickled down her cheeks. “Ay,” 
continued she, seating herself before Major 
Walden, on the floor, “ Julian is the son, 
born in wedlock, of the lawful marriage 
between Micajah Walden and Edir Im- 
merson. Told you not this to me, Jarvis ? 
Speak.” 

“ I did,” replied the mineralogist, “and 
will prove my assertion, or forfeit my title 
to the respect of the age, as its benefac- 
tor.” 

“Yes,” continued Edir, “ I believe he is 
the son of Micajah Walden ;” she hesitated, 
as if fearful to speak, “I will speak it, for 
my heart has spoken it a thousand times — 
and the son of poor Edir Immerson. I met 
Julian, ready to walk blindly into the pits 
prepared by his enemies — I looked at him, 

I saw thy features, Walden ; I saw thy 
very form and size ; I beheld the beautiful 
curl, the manly brow, the curl of the lip. 
I loved him for the revival of the image I 
once loved ; and look !” said she, pointing 
to the portrait of Edward, “ look at the 
nose, the wild dark eye ; the brow of pride 
and haughtiness. Ha I ha ! I saw it this 
morning, when he refused to bow, to come 
before thee, Walden. Ha I ha ! was it the 
blood of the Waldens, or of the Irnmer- 
sons, which mounted his cheek, and fired 
his resolution ? Are the clouded skies going 
to clear off? shall I again press my ac- 
knowledged babe, — curses on thee, Mcllha- 
ney, — curses on thee, Geoffrey Jarvis, for 
keeping me so long in ignorance of my lost 
treasure. Oh, Jarvis, you have mocked 
me, and brought me here, to play the fool 
before him, who turned me out to wander 
midst the beasts of the forest, like Nebu- 
chadnezzar. Yes ! Walden, you were too 
weak, or too proud, to acknowledge me as 
your wife to your proud and haughty father; 
he and you have scorched my brain, you 
both have dried up the feelings of pity in 
my heart. But this arm is stronger now 
than—” 

Cathena, alarmed at the gestures and 
agitated features, and at the singular and 
exciting conversation of Edir, with tears 
besought her to be more calm, and not to 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


217 


suffer her mind to dwell on such melan- 
choly topics. 

“ Yes,” replied Edir, looking- earnestly 
at Cathena, and taking hold of her hand, 
“ Yes, you can feel for those who have 
drunk of the waters of affliction, for thy 
tender heart hath already had its share. I 
ought to have been thy acknowledged 
aunt.” 

“Oh, God,” said Walden, “this is too 
much! It is more, than my feelings can 
bear. Forgive me, Edir, forgive me, my 
once beloved wife. I acknowledge that 
we were lawfully married. I acknowledge 
Cathena, that she is your aunt by marriage. 
Help me to my room, Bucklebelt, I can 
stand no more.” 

“ Forbear,” said the mineralogist, “ he 
must not leave the room. God will give 
him strength to acknowledge that Julian is 
his son. You must write to him ; he now 
awaits your command, or rather, your invi- 
tation.” 

Cathena had fallen on the neck of Edir ; 
the facts just admitted by her uncle, and 
the deep and successful interest which 
Edir had shown for her safety, on the night 
of the massacre, rushed to her mind ; she 
wept for several moments, then rising more 
calm, she said, “ My dear uncle, Mr. On- 
slow must be sent for ; he is an honorable 
man, and the circumstances which are 
coming to light imperiously call on you to 
have him present, and to assist in clearing 
the mystery which seems to hang over 
your house.” 

“Do as you please, send for whom you 
please, and come what may, justice shall 
be done to all. I am weak, Bucklebelt, I 
must be suffered to retire to my room.” 

“Go,” said the mineralogist, “I per- 
ceive that thy stony heart is softened from 
on high ; go and wrestle in prayer, for wis- 
dom to perceive, and honesty to acknow- 
ledge the mighty truths which will soon be 
disclosed.” "Then turning to Cathena, he 
said, “ Recollectest thou the questions I ask- 
ed theel Ay, the pending misfortunes 
which I hinted at. But no — I will not stir 
up the dark waters of memory, — go write 
to Julian, he is the prop of thy house, and 
thy kinsman ;” and to Bucklebelt, who had 
returned from the Major’s room, he said, 
“command that Dr. String IIalt,McIlhariey 
and his wife, Mr. Milligan and Jedediah 
Holiday be sent for, post haste ; I grow 
impatient, deferred justice calls aloud for 
her rights.” 

Cathena immediately wrote a letter to 
.Julian, intimating her belief that facts 
highly interesting to him were about to be 

15 * 


developed, and expressed her individual 
hope that they might result in proving 
that he was the son of Micajah Walden. 

The mineralogist, finding that immedi- 
ate steps had been taken for sending for 
his witnesses, carefully arranged his seve- 
ral papers, preparatory for the expected 
trial of the truth of his assertions. 

Bucklebelt was much with Maj. Walden, 
and soothed his harassed feelings, and ex- 
horted him to rely on his long tried friends, 
to see that no injustice or imposition should 
be practised. “ I have,” said he, amongst 
many other observations, “always thought 
that you did Julian great injustice. 1 have 
no doubt that your enemies designedly 
laid schemes to prejudice you against him ; 
and so thought, and so often expressed him- 
self, our late, brave and. exalted friend, 
Edward Conway.” 

Major Walden seized the hand of Buckle- 
belt, and these stern men both burst into 
tears. “ Say you so, Bucklebelt 1 — too gen- 
erous, — too brave ; for his sake, then, I will 
strive to be calm ; to discard my prejudices, 
if such they may be called.” 

During the evening, Capt. Gant arrived, 
and hearing the particulars, entered warm- 
ly into the necessity of the proposed inves- 
tigation. The night cl6sed in on sleepless 
eyes. Major Walden’s mind recurred 
back to the days of his first love ! — to the 
misfortunes which had fallen on his wife’s 
mind, and had driven her out from his con- 
trol, a wayward and imperious woman. — 
Mcllhaney and his wife determined, so 
soon as the developments were made, and 
their testimony given in, to move from the 
neighborhood into the Cherokee nation. 
Edir Immerson, restless and excited, went 
to Bucklebelt’s ; whilst the mineralogist, 
with a placid and serene countenance, be- 
took himself to the open air, to look out 
upon the stars, which were in his estima- 
tion coming to the predicted conjunction, 
and about to prove that his predictions had, 
and would be fulfilled to the very letter. 
But Julian ! he who had ufdergone so many 
anxious hours, in the chase of the deep 
mystery of his birth, spent a night of al- 
ternate emotions of hope and despondency. 
At times, the rainbow fountain sprung up 
in the sandy desert, and then agaiii it sunk 
in the dry and deceitful earth, at his feet. 

CHAPTER LIX. 

There’s no contending against destiny. 

Now you shall find all my predictions true. 

Massinger. 

The morrow came, and, in a few hours 


218 


ONSLOW, 


after sunrise, tlie ball of Major Walden 
was crowded with those who had been 
summoned as witnesses in the proposed 
investigation, whilst many others, hearing 
of the affair, swelled the concourse. 

To a suggestion made by Major Walden 
for a private investigation of the proofs of 
Julian’s claims upon him as a parent, the 
mineralogist loudly objected, saying — 

“ I come to rescue my name, and a long 
life, from unworthy aspersions — I come to 
vindicate and prove my claims as a great 
public benefactor — one who has been con- 
stantly engaged in the pursuit of truth, and 
of the hidden arcana of nature. And I come 
to complete my great schemes, by establish- 
ing the rightful heir to the house of Wal- 
den, according to a solemn vow, made to 
my ancient and noble patron, Warwick 
Walden, of blessed memory. Thanks to a 
kind and over-ruling Providence ! I have 
been spared to see this proudest hour of my 
life — and I demand an open and public ex- 
hibition of my claims for veracity, and the 
profundity of my oft repeated predictions !” 

The pale lips of the mineralogist trem- 
bled as he exultingly finished his determina- 
tion. 

Mr. Milligan, wan and serious, was re- 
quested to preside over the proposed pro- 
ceedings for the examination of the proffer- 
ed proofs of the mineralogist ; and Captain 
Gant was appointed to read aloud each docu- 
ment as presented by the mineralogist — 
whilst Bucklebelt was designated as Secre- 
tary. 

Julian was requested to come forwards 
before any proof was exhibited, and give a 
succinct history of his early life. This 
plan was suggested by Doctor String Halt, 
in order that there might be no suspicion 
that he was influenced by any facts about 
to be developed. Julian, with an air of some 
little surprise at the suggestion, came be- 
fore Mr. Milligan, and related substantially 
the same particulars already recorded in his 
interview with Major Walden. 

Mr. Mill igan,nv hen Julian had finished, 
with considerable surprise depicted on his 
countenance, stated that the incidents of 
the rock with an excavation, and the name 
and actions of the horse, were still fresh in 
his own recollection, though they had been 
forgotten. 

“ And the white spot on the head was 
mine, although,” continued he, “ the hand 
of time has since changed the other por- 
tions of my hair to the same color of age.” 

This singular corroboration of Julian’s 
account of his early history, by such a wit- 


ness as Mr. Milligan, was well calculated 
to excite the curiosity of the whole of the 
spectators to the highest pitch, and to pro- 
duce a feverish anxiety to have the whole 
mystery of his parentage thoroughly un- 
raveled. 

The mineralogist now came forward, and 
said — 

“We have spent time unnecessarily on 
circumstantial evidence — I wish to proceed 
at once to proof as clear as the sun at noon- 
day. Here, sir,” continued the mineralo- 
gist, “ is paper. No. 1. It is proof of the 
marriage of Micajah Walden to Edir Im- 
merson, by the Reverend Geoffrey Jarvis, 
licensed Minister of the Gospel. Captain 
Gant will please read the same audibly to 
this assembly.” 

Major Walden, with stern and fixed fea- 
tures, rivaling those of a Roman statue, 
said, in a loud voice — 

“Read it not! I acknowledge the fact 
of our lawful marriage, and I further say, 
those bonds have never been dissolved by 
any legal enactment whatsoever.” 

“Aha!” laughed Edir, “Did Walden 
acknowledge that I was his lawful wife — 
and that I am so yet ! Then here, before 
all these witnesses, I swear he speaks the 
truth. But, oh !” she continued, in a low 
voice, “it has come too late! Yes, like 
the rain after the poor flower has been 
dried up by the burning sun. Yes, too 
late ! — Too late !” and Edir burst into 
tears, whilst her sobs were heard distinct- 
ly by all in the room. 

Julian looked with utter amazement 
upon the scene. Strange visions floated 
before his imagination ! He had never 
heard that Edir Immerson was the wife of 
Micajah Walden! Could that strange and 
eccentric being be his mother! He was 
diverted for a moment from this exciting 
train of thought by the mineralogist, who 
loudly announced — 

“ Here is document, No. 2,” holding 
forth a long tin tube, “ and is the agree- 
ment between myself and that late illus- 
trious gentleman, my worthy friend and 
patron, Warwick Walden, father of Mica- 
jah Walden now present — signed, sealed, 
and delivered to my keeping ; and was 
destined to be opened for the first time 
in verification of the claims of Julian to 
the honors and lineal descent to the no- 
ble house of Walden. And I now appeal 
to Mcllhaney to produce the copy which 
was deposited for safe keeping in his 
hands. Come forth, sir!” said the miner- 
alogist, looking at the shrinking and trem- 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


219 


bling wretch, “and dare, without dread or 
favor, to speak the truth, the whole truth, 
so help you God !” 

“ I have brought it with me, according 
to your request, whenever I was called 
on, to have all my papers in their proper 
place,” replied Mcllhaney, drawing forth 
a paper, which appeared soiled from smoke 
and time, and handing it to the mineralo- 
gist. 

“ It is well you have obeyed,” said the 
mineralogist. “But,” continued he, “open 
the original — break the seals which have 
through perils, by day and by night, kept 
the important facts from the gaze of the 
idle. Read it aloud. Captain Gant.” 

Profound silence was maintained by all 
present — a fixed earnestness clothed every 
feature, as the noble Captain, with a clear, 
full voice, obeyed the request of the miner- 
alogist. 

Amongst other particulars, the docu- 
ment portrayed in vivid colors the signal 
injustice which Micajah Walden had done 
his long line of ancestors, by marrying, 
when a minor, into a family of obscurity. 
It next justified the intended fraud prac- 
tised upon Edir Immerson, stating distinct- 
ly, that through the agency of M. Mc- 
llhaney and his wife, a certain male 
child, the son of Micajah Walden and the 
said Edir Immerson, had been transferred 
from their possession to the care of Geof- 
frey Jarvis, mineralogist. That in order 
to raise up a great champion, to further 
the noble science of mineralogy, and to 
carry out the views and discoveries of 
Geoffrey Jarvis, an eminent young philo- 
sopher, the said child, hereafter to be 
called Julian, was to be taken to Phila- 
delphia and educated; and that the said 
mineralogist was to keep a supervisory 
control over the said Julian, in such man- 
ner and mode as he might deem most con- 
ducive to the great purposes for which he 
had been placed under his care and con- 
trol. Provisions for the payment of neces- 
sary expenses were mentioned ; and the 
document ended by specifying that, in the 
event that Micajah Walden should refuse 
to acknowledge said son as his lawful heir 
or child, and withhold a due portion of his 
estate from him, then the titles of certain 
lands were vested in the said Julian — and 
in case of the death of Micajah Walden, 
without leaving a will, or children, then 
the right, title, and claim of the aforesaid 
lands should be vested in the said Julian, 
urging that this agreement should be 
looked on as of binding and most solemn 


import. Signed by Warwick Walden 
alone, and witnessed by M. Mcllhaney 
and Jedediah Holiday. And signed by 
Geoffrey Jarvis and Warwick Walden, 
and witnessed by the same witnesses in 
another part which related to the mutual 
agreement. 

The copy and the original were found to 
correspond. 

“ Swear M. Mcllhaney, Mr. Magistrate, 
on the holy Evangelist,” said the miner- 
alogist, “ and let us have his testimony — 
and you, too, Judith Mcllhaney, join your 
hand upon the same book.” 

The proper oaths having been adminis- 
tered, they both testified to the following 
facts: — 

That Edir Immerson, in a state of men- 
tal derangement, came to their house, and 
that she and Mrs. Mcllhaney were both 
confined at the same time — that the child 
of Edir was a son, and that of the other a 
daughter — that in a week the female child 
died — that soon after they were visited by 
Warwick Walden, who, when he ascer- 
tained that his daughter-in-law had a son, 
and that she was out of her senses, be- 
sought them to take the child, and own it 
as theirs, and impress upon Edir that the 
one which had died was hers. They ac- 
knowledged that they had sacredly kept 
the secret, except from Notwood, and that 
Clannagan had since extorted some of the 
facts from them. Mcllhaney further stated, 
that in order to recognize the child, he had 
made, with a certain application of lunar 
caustic, a small scar on his forehead, and 
he confessed, but for that scar, he would 
have given up Julian Onslow, notwith- 
standing his solemn injunctions from Edir, 
when Clannagan and his Bloody Scout 
were in pursuit of him. He recollected, 
also, the time when Mr. Milligan came to 
his house — Julian was then three years 
old. For the proof of what he said, he 
appealed to Doctor String Halt, who was 
— with Mrs. Holiday-^n attendance on 
the two women at the time of their con- 
finement. Hl^ 

Mr. and Mrs. Holij^y sworn. — Mrs. 
Holiday well recollects mat Edir Immer- 
son’s child was a son, and that of Mrs. 
Mcllhaney a daughter. Jedediah was 
not apprised, he said, “ of the chicane and 
collusion in this case, although he thought 
at the time he smelt a rat” — he went on 
to say, in consequence of that suspicion, 
he had departed from his usual signature, 
and had made his letters capitals — “and 


220 


ONSLOW, 


behold ! here they are — ^just as I made 
them !” said he. 

“ Now Doctor String Halt, the last and 
the best witness, come forward ! I see 
by your noble countenance that the sun- 
shine so long hidden from your eyes has 
illumined them. Yes,” said the mineralo- 
gist, with an air of sublime excitement, 
“ I proclaim that my prophecies are ful- 
filled ! — that my sacred vows and trusts on 
this subject have been faithfully and re- 
ligiously observed! — the justice of my mo- 
tives vindicated ! Henceforth, with the 
assistance of the rightful heir of the house 
of Walden, I am devoted to the advance- 
ment of the wonderful and glorious science 
of mineralogy. Proceed ! — proceed. Dr. 
String Halt — I have already anticipated 
your conclusive testimony.” 

The mineralogist sank to the chair 
which he held, whilst the perspiration 
trickled down his countenance — and he 
muttered, in a low tone, his thanks to 
Heaven for the fulfillment of his predic- 
tions. 

Doctor String Halt next testified. — He 
confirmed the statements of Holiday’s wife, 
and the Mcllhaneys, and he added — “ I 
am entirely satisfied that Julian Onslow is 
the lawful son of Edir Immerson and Mica- 
jah Walden; but to make ‘assurance doubly 
sure,’ I have one fact to relate. I was re- 
quested by the late Warwick Walden to 
make, with indelible materials, the initials 
of J. O. on the left arm of the son of Edir 
Immerson. I thought it a strange request, 
but I complied — now if that proof is still 
visible, no one can doubt for a moment.” 

Julian was requested to draw off his 
coat, and to exhibit, to all present, this 
last evidence, if such he had. But Julian 
was pale, and scarcely able to proceed — 
the Doctor kindly assisted him. The whole 
assembly was breathless, until the letters 
were exhibited, distinct and plain to every 
eye. A simultaneous shout arose, and 
Major Walden and Edir Immerson both 
rushed forwards, filing on Julian’s neck. 

“ My long lost babe !” exclaimed Edir, 
swooning to the fli®-. 

“ My own de:^son !” cried Major Wal- 
den — “rnyEdwlftl! No! my abused Ju- 
lian ! — my wronged and neglected son ! 
O God ! forgive me for my pride of ancestry. 
My poor wife ! I have unwittingly broken 
her heart! Henceforth, I am an altered 
man ! Oh, my son — forgive me my pride ! 
My love of Edward blinded me. Here, 
publicly, I acknowledge that Julian is my 
son — and is the sole heir to the house of 
Walden !” 


CHAPTER LX. 

Fortune here hath shown 

Her various powers ; but virtue, in the end, 

Is crowned with laurel ; love hath done his parts too ! 
And mutual friendship, after bloody jars, 

AVill cure the wounds received in our wars. 

Tile Bashful Lover. 

Edir Immerson was conveyed, apparent- 
ly lifeless, to a room prepared for her, and 
Julian and Major Walden, with other 
friends, urged Dr. String Halt to render 
her all the aid in his power. But a few 
days soon sufficed to prove that her words 
to Julian were prophetic of her doom. She 
gradually sunk, until life seemed to flicker 
like the expiring flame of the taper. She 
regained, in a great degree, her reason, 
and besought the forgiveness of her hus- 
band, taking blame to herself for rejecting 
his aid and control. St. Ille paid her all 
the attentions which her own heart-felt 
gratitude inspired, independent of that 
duty which she owed towards the mother 
of the man she adored. Edir, after affec- 
tionately kissing her, added her blessing, 
and with exhortations to all to prepare for 
another and a better world, she exchanged 
her fitful and wayward existence for one of 
quiet and happiness. 

After a suitable time for a partial reco- 
very from the heavy blows which had fal- 
len on them and their friends, Julian and 
St. Ille were repaid for their many fears, 
and the hopes so often deferred, by being 
happily united to each other by their mu- 
tual friend, Mr. Milligan, A display being 
neither congenial with their feelings, nor 
compatible with recent events, but few 
friends were present. Amongst those who 
graced their nuptials, may be mentioned 
the mineralogist, Bucklebelt, and Mr. Mil- 
ligan’s second daughter, who seemed to 
have received, in addition to what her own 
virtues demanded, a part of that homage 
which was so justly due to those of the 
beautiful and lamented Amelia. 

The mineralogist, after the acknowledge- 
ment of Julian’s claims by his father, had 
paid a visit to each of his friends. A deep 
and solemn serenity was depicted upon his 
placid countenance. Having appropriate 
rooms at several of the places he visited, 
he busily employed himself in arranging 
his numerous manuscripts. The disinter- 
ested and faithful part he had acted to- 
wards Julian, his daring courage, his un- 
shaken adherence to whatever he believed 
right, at all times, under the most trying 
circumstances, caused him to be a great 


A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


221 


favorite with all who appreciated rightly 
such evidences of a noble nature. And his 
immediate friends expected long to enjoy 
the pleasure of rendering their heart-felt 
respects towards one for whom they had so 
much regard. But they were doomed to a 
sad and sudden disappointment — for a few 
days after Julian’s marriage, and whilst he 
was on a visit to his father’s, with St. Ille, 
the mineralogist and Captain Bucklebelt 
were announced. 

The usual salutations being ended, the 
mineralogist, finding the family all present, 
turned to Julian, saying — 

“ I come to deposit a copy of my labors 
and discoveries of many years with you. 
How I have loved and pursued the studies 
therein treated of, this is not the fit occa- 
sion to speak.” 

The countenance of the mineralogist for 
a moment underwent a change — his reso- 
lution seemed to falter. 

“ You are all dear to me !” Then look- 
ing earnestly at Julian, he continued, with 
a choked and desponding voice — “And 
you, Julian, are dearer to me than life! 
Alas ! I have failed to school my heart for 
this trying interview — but nevertheless,” 
said he, wiping hastily an obtrusive tear 
away, “ my duty must be performed.” 

The mineralogist paused, as if to regain 
fresh courage, and, in a more composed 
tone, proceeded again — 

“ After the solemn vow of the avenge- 
ment was fulfilled — after the happy and 
glorious termination of all difficulties on a 
subject in which most of us present were 
so deeply and vitally involved, I had hoped 
to commence the immediate operations of 
my great plans ; but more leisure, and a 
closer investigation of the subject, in all its 
bearings and results, have convinced me 
that the people of this State are not yet 
sufficiently enlightened, nor prepared to do 
them justice. They must have light. Great 
truths require great energies to enforce and 
perpetuate them. I must seek the great 
focus of improvements, and there subject 
my theories to the severest scrutiny. I 
live not for a day — I live for posterity. I 
may yet have to cross the seas. Having 
fulfilled my private obligations, I enter 
now upon my public ones !” 

Julian and St. Ille each caught hold of 
the extended hand of the mineralogist — 
even the stern Walden and Bucklebelt 
joined them in their entreaties that he 
would forego, for a time at least, his pro- 
posed departure. The mineralogist gently 
disengaged his hand, and walking to and 


fro for several moments, turned to Julian, 
and said — , 

“ Alas ! I have failed to inspire you with 
the right enthusiasm. You, even you, 
would hinder me in my great pursuits. Be- 
ware, my dear Julian, how you attempt to 
prevent the decrees of Heaven. You know 
not the mighty impulse which urges me on 
to the performance of my duty. I stand 
not on the same platform with other men. 
You have my labors now in your posses- 
sion. If I return, well ; — if not, then I 
call on you, now before high Heaven, not 
to palter with your duty. Observe the 
times ! Observe the tempers of men ; and 
commit the fulfillment of my designs to no 
faithless, or incompetent hand. And now,” 
said the mineralogist, pausing, — “there is 
nothing more left me, but to give my part- 
ing benedictions to all, to each ! Come 
hither, Julian; my heart grapples to thine 
with hooks of steel. I will embrace thee ! 
Farewell ! my son. Perchance, my last 
earthly blessing is now given thee.” 

The mineralogist tore himself away 
from his friends, and was mounting his 
faithful beast, when Major Walden pressed 
Capt. Bucklebelt to carry a purse of gold 
to him. “ He accepts it,” said the Major to 
himself, wiping his eyes, “ a poor recom- 
pense for thy love and constancy to my 
friendless and unknown Julian.” 

Ah ! sad indeed, were the hearts of those 
who, as they gazed on the slow, wending 
form of the mineralogist, felt the melan- 
choly presentiment, that they were then 
looking on him for the last time.” 

* :j« >fc % % 5i< 

Not twelve months after the cessation of 
hostilities, Jedediah Holiday gratified his 
friends, by the exercise of his fine talents 
at descriptive narrative, in rehearsing Capt. 
Bucklebelt’s services and claims to a seat 
in the Legislature of his State ; a post to 
which he was unanimou.-^ called, by the 
suffrages of a grateful pumic. 

Felix Ashburn, mucl|||^claimed by his 
new associations, in manners, and the ad- 
vice of an excellent moti^, has fortified 
his probable reform, by becoming the son- 
in-law of Mr. Milligan. 

Later accounts state, that Julian had 
taken his friend. Buck Tidder, under his 
particular guidance ; sending him to school, 
where he was making excellent progress 
in his studies ; whilst his.father has been 
allowed “ ample verge, and room enough,” 
at all times, to visit his old friends Cato 
and Prudence, at Forest Hill ; where, it is 


222 


ONSLOW, A TALE OF THE SOUTH. 


said, a little white-headed urchin can ge- 
nerally be seen, called Edward Gant. And 
that at the Sycamores, Mrs. Grayson, who 
has ever been considered a very intelligent 
and excellent woman, is accused of at- 
tempting to spoil a certain little lass, whose 
name has not yet been settled on, though 


it is rumored that most of the family in- 
cline that it shall be written out in full, in 
the great family bible, Julia Armond 
Walden. A fit tribute to friendship and 
to beauty. Farewell! Julian Onslow! 
Happiness to thee, and to thy friends ! Hap- 
piness to thy gentle — thy constant St. Hie, 



f 

m 



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Bremer, by Mary Howitt, 

The Banker’s Wife; or Court and 
City, by Mrs. G. Gore, 

The Birthnight, by Mrs. C. Gore, 
New Sketches of Everyday Life: with 
Strife and Peace. 'I'ranslated from 
the Swedish of Fredrika Bremer, by 
Mary Howitt, 

Arabella Stuart, by G. P. R. James, 
The Unloved One, by Mrs. Holland, 
Jack of the Mill, by Wil* ^ 

The Heretic ; from the R 
jetchnikoff. 

The Jew ; from the Germa 
ler, 


li^^Howitl, 

La 

na^^PIpind 


Arthur; from the French of Eugene 
Sue, . . . . 

Chatsworth, by R. P. Ward, . 

The Prairie Bird, by Hon. C. A. Mur- 
ray, . . . . 

Amy Herbert, by a Lady, 

Rose D’Albert, by G. P. R. James, 
The Triumphs of Time, by the Author 
of “Two Old Men’s Tales.” . 

The H— Family, by Miss Bremer: 

translated by Mary Howitt, . . 
The Grandfather, by Miss Pickering, 
Arrah Neil, by G. P. R. James, 


25 

25 

25 

25 

12 

12 

12 

12 

25 

12 


12 


12 

12 

12 

12 


12 

12 

12 

12 

12 

12 

25 

12 

25 

12 

12 

25 

12 

12 

12 




IN COURSE OF PUBLICATION BY ZIEBER & Co. 


PARLEY^S CABINET LIBRARY 

p 

Pablishin^ in 40 IVumbers, at 35 cents eacb^ 

Containing the most interesting and valuable collection 

ON BIOGEAPHY, HISTOKY, SCIENCE, ARTS, &c. 

That has yet been published. 


A LOOKING-GLASS FOR DYSPEPTICS, 

FROM THE DIARY OF A LANDLORD; 

ILLUSTRATED WITH A HUMOROUS EXGRAVIXO. 

By J. M. SANDERSON, Franklin House. 


THRILLING NOVEL OF REAL LIFE: 

THE QUAKER CITY, OR THE MONKS OF MONK-HALL. 

A Romance of Philadelphia Life, Mystery and Crime,, in the year 18 — . Founded 
on facts, gleaned from the MSS. of an aged member of the Bar. 

To be published in 4 successive semi-monthly Numbers, of 48 octavo pages each, 
at One Shilling per number. First number will be issued October 5th; Second, Oct. 
19th; Third, Nov. 3d: Fourth, Nov. 16. 

It is now some twenty years since a member of the bar first began to make notes 
of his experience of the Life, Mystery and Crime of the Quaker city. These memo- 
randa, fraught with the most terriffic interest, at the death of the aged and resectable 
lawyer, were bequeathed to a friend, who has occupied nearly two years in v/orkmg them 
up into a Romance of the Secret Life of Philadelphia, of the most original character. 
Commenced long before the “ Mysteries of Paris’' appeared, the Romance in some 
respects bears the same relation to Philadelphia that the Mysteries” do to Paris. 

The publishers have purchased at an enormous cost, the manuscripts of this Romance, 
which fr^^llp peculiar character, bids fair to have the same run in Philadelphia, that 
the ” M^^Ks” of Sue had in Paris. It is, indeed, a highly interesting Romance of 
the j^iB^Viystery, and the Crime of the Quaker City, in all their phrases and details. 

I all the characters of Philadelphia Life are introduced — the Lawyer who 
both sides, the Parson whose private history gives the lie to his public 
preachings, the Doctor who commits a disgusting crime for money, as well as the dis- 
honl^ Merchant, the Swell-Forger, the black mail Editor, the young Blood about town, 
the Fence-Keeper, (receiver of stolen goods), etc., etc., yet has the author painted no 
livingycharacter in the pages of his work, nor satirized any particular individual, but 
rather drawn the distinguishing features of the representative of a class. 

The novel will be published in the best manner, printed with large type on stout 
and firm while paper. No expense will be spared in getting the work out in the hand- 
somest manner. All orders from a distance promptly attended to. Address 

G. B. ZIEBER & Co., 

No. 3 Ledger Building, Philad’a. 




LEf.ly'13 



4 


LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 








